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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612646">Save Some Christmas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilteredRainbow/pseuds/FilteredRainbow'>FilteredRainbow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Romance, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Musicians, Original Character(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, plenty of angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:22:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>44,640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24612646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilteredRainbow/pseuds/FilteredRainbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike struggles with his feelings for Micky.  It's the mid '60s, and they can't possibly entertain the idea of a real relationship — can they?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Micky Dolenz &amp; Mike Nesmith, Micky Dolenz/Mike Nesmith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/632290">All I Want for Christmas</a> by featherless-wings.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>1. This is based on, and is a continuation of, featherless-wings' "All I Want For Christmas" from a few years ago that I read for the first time the other week.  So go read that lovely diddy first before reading this!  I'd never entertained the idea of slash for any of the characters, but I totally enjoyed featherless' story.  I guess my brain took the "~The End?~" as a challenge to figure out how to fuck things up, and here we are.  (My apologies to featherless if s/he hates it.)</p><p>2. For the purposes of this 'fic:  Christmas was actually on Friday in '64 but is on Saturday here because it seemed to work better.  This is the TV universe but with some RP elements for convenience's sake (I'm lazy?) and due to generic fandom familiarity (again, I'm lazy).  Their ages are Mike-21, Peter-20, Micky-19, and Davy-17.  I've taken liberties with a few other ages, days of the week, and things.</p><p>3. This is a work of total fiction.  The show, characters, etc. are not mine, etc. etc.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C1 — SATURDAY/CHRISTMAS, THE MORNING AFTER</p><p>The barest glow filtered in through the window's shades in the bedroom they shared upstairs.  Just on this side of consciousness, Mike perceived warmth.  Had he been the type to be able to sleep in the daytime, he would have had no problem returning once again to the land of slumber.  But he wasn't, and besides, although comfortably warm, the idea that something was 'off' tickled at the back of his mind.  Awaking more and blinking to clear his vision, he noticed the profound difference from normal, that the soft morning light illuminated a different spot than he was used to seeing while lying on his left side:  his empty bed a few feet in front of him, nearer to the door than where he currently was situated.  As consciousness continued to take hold, he also noticed that he was he was being spooned; a warm body was curled up flush behind him, all but hugging him with an arm slung over his waist.  The breath coming against his neck was slow and steady.  <i>Micky</i>.  A bolt of understanding flashed through Mike's veins causing his pulse to thrum and his heart to feel full.  Flushing from head to toe, he took some time to revel in these sweet and innocent, yet thoroughly intimate, sensations.  He had never been privy to waking up like this with anyone before in his life — nor had it even really occurred to him that he might ever expect to at some point.  As he basked in the cocooned, blissful feeling of being with Micky like this, his mind drifted.</p><p>He eventually meandered to the thought that it was a shame Micky wasn't awake to consciously appreciate any of this.  <i>He won't be awake for another... What time is it, anyhow?</i>, Mike wondered.  He loathed to move, truly, but with daylight present and their expectation to be across town "early" as Micky had mentioned, the impulse to find out the time took hold.  He had to sit up some and crane his neck a bit in order to see the clock perched on the night stand between their beds.  In the process of doing so, Micky's right arm around him and the body connected to it stiffened somewhat.  Mike paused his own movement in response, but it became apparent Micky was only stirring in his sleep as a reaction and wasn't fully awake, at least yet.</p><p>Suddenly he worried if his friend might go berserk once he woke up and realized what had happened.  After all, there had been some alcohol involved.  But no, he thought, if this took a downward turn, it would be far more likely of Micky to show his regret by blowing off the situation, claiming it was harmless experimentation he'd been after, no hard feelings, and everything would go back to normal.  Apprehension settled in the pit of Mike's stomach that threatened to make him sick.  Pensive, he closed his eyes.  <i>But maybe a reaction like that from Micky would be for the best.</i>, he thought.  <i>Yeah.</i>, he swallowed audibly, painfully, past a newfound lump in his throat, <i>it prob'ly would.  What we did is... wrong.  It ain't normal.  An' it ain't like this could ever be an actual thing between us.  Handlin' it that way, playin' it off, there won't be any real complications.  It wouldn't even have to be that weird.</i></p><p>A deep frown was present as his mind had said those words to himself.  He took a deep breath and past that lump in his throat and further past the small but twisting knot in his stomach.  Damn, though, if his heart didn't already ache with dread at the thought of letting go of being with Micky in this way; he had <i>wanted</i> for months — if he were honest with himself, months and months — keeping his feelings anchored out of sight and his hands and lips to himself.  He had been successful in suppressing his feelings for the longest time, well over a year now.  All up until last night when Micky had been so sweet to him and smiled at him and blushed when he spoke and stood there gazing fixedly at him and the slight buzz of alcohol propelled him...  That damned mistletoe and the opportunity that presented itself.  Literally all he could think of was hands and lips and <i>Micky</i>.  Lacking the normal ability to think things through properly and rationally, he was incapable of keeping himself in check any longer, and he simply went for it — and he found heaven when the affection was returned.  And he had since been able to enjoy every single second of yesterday evening with Micky through to the early hours of today, hands and lips and other parts very much <i>not</i> kept to himself and instead shared with the only person he had ever had a crush on.  It was an incredible experiece, and he hadn't regretted any of it.  But that is where it would have to stay.  He took another deep, steadying breath and told himself last night would get it out of his system, and he would be fine again.</p><p>Finally registering the time, he saw the clock read 6:34.  They needed to go soon.  Micky's family lived not quite an hour away, so it didn't leave them all that long to get on the road.  Secretly Mike was pleased to have been comfortable enough to not wake up earlier than he had despite the lack of space to work with on Micky's bed; he was, or at least until his brain had started kicking in had been, physically relaxed when he should have felt cramped and stiff, all things considered.  Sighing back down into his friend's embrace, there was no question at all that it was comfortable in every sense, and he didn't want the cozy, satisfying feeling that threatened him with a good time to end.  He lay there wondering just how long he could get away enjoying it before—</p><p>Micky's body and arm stiffened again as if on cue.  A sluggish yawn followed.  And then a gentle squeeze; Micky had squeezed his waist.  With that action, Mike melted.  What sounded like a purr came from Micky's mouth, and breath came even closer, forehead and nose and lips nuzzling his neck.  Mike pressed his eyes shut, and his mouth involuntarily parted.  <i>Oh, God.</i>, he thought as his dick also proceeded to twitch without his consent.</p><p>But then Micky stilled.</p><p>Mike took that opportunity to pry his eyes open and carefully turn onto his back to look over at his bedmate.  How he wished everything weren't different in the sobering light of day.  He was in bed, naked, with another man.  With his closest friend.  His nineteen-year-old, goofball, ostensibly straight, and also very naked best friend.  In a lost effort, he breathed to calm his rushing heart and told himself it would all work out alright; that if he didn't expect anything, then he couldn't be disappointed, and he couldn't disappoint in turn.  And that's how it would have to be.  They'd just break this off then and there.</p><p>When he had turned, Micky's familiar scent hit his nose, and they locked eyes only inches apart.  The heavy-lidded, innocent, sexy-as-hell, contented smile he was met with took his breath away.  A shy smile of his own broke out across his face, another action from him without his permission.  He was lost, and there was no way he could deny it to himself in this moment.  So he didn't bother trying; he once again simply <i>was</i>.</p><p>Micky blinked a few times in rapid succession in an attempt to fully wake up.  "I thought for a minute this was all just a <i>really</i> great dream."  The morning roughness of his voice was perfectly delicious.</p><p>Mike felt almost tipsy again.  <i>Really great...</i>, his brain repeated, having seemingly disconnected from the rest of his body.  He grinned like a fool.  Just a dream?  "Nah."</p><p>"Merry Christmas, Mike.", Micky repeated his words from the night before.  He used his free hand, having had it shift to Mike's narrow hip when he'd turned, to help leverage himself forward and down and plant a gentle kiss on his friend's still-soft lips.  He didn't feel like he had to ask for the privilege of doing so this time around.</p><p>The kiss permeated every last cell of Mike's body, and though it lasted seconds, he felt that it was over all too quickly.  Without thought, he rolled over onto his right side to completely face his friend, only half an inch separating their noses.  His voice was dark gravel.  "Merry Christmas, Mick."  He moved his left hand to his curls and then around to cup the back of his head and press him in for a longer and deeper kiss that Micky was so willingly offering.  He opened his mouth to the alluring and now-familiar taste of him.  As they shifted their bodies closer to together once again, found himself to be mostly hard already.  <i>Oh.</i>; he noticed so was Micky.  Their second kiss was passionate; different from the previous night, their mutual exploration wasn't as nervous or unsure as it had been.  Mike wasted no time in shoving his reservations aside and his tongue into its new favorite location in Micky's mouth.  He was getting what he'd wanted for Christmas, even if it was the most terrifically bad idea he'd ever had, and even though he knew he'd have no choice but to return this present.  He just was no longer prepared to give it back <i>just yet</i>.</p><p>After learning more about what gave each other the most pleasure, culminating in a deep and needy kiss before they each found their releases with a still-shy groan, they ended up cuddling again which soon devolved to a small fit of giggles due to how strange yet perfect everything felt between them, up to and including the evidence of their activities since they no longer had a stray shirt handy to wipe it away.  They lazed for a couple of minutes longer, enjoying sporadic, saccharine kisses before Mike's brain once again kicked back into some semblance of a gear and it occurred to him they actually had somewhere to be.  "We gotta get goin'."  It came out as much a whine as a directive.</p><p>Micky whined back, but with a grin accompanying it.  Then with a quick, final peck on Mike's lips — that the latter man was neither prepared for nor inclined to end once it had begun and then ended in the same instant — he bounced out of bed and grabbed some articles of clothing out of a drawer.  "Dibs on the first shower.  ...unless you want to join me.", he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.</p><p>"Naw.", Mike replied, his lips upturned, eyes bashfully darting back and forth from Micky's face to his naked body, posed in front of the chest of drawers giving him a good view of his pert backside.  They hadn't exactly seen each other yet, and despite Micky more or less putting himself on display, Mike felt like he was intruding on his privacy so tried to keep his eyes up.  "We wouldn' both fit in there <i>and</i> get clean."  But he found the idea to pique his interest nonetheless.</p><p>After Micky floated on cloud nine through the door and down the stairs, bypassing the upstairs half bath entirely in favor of said shower, Mike's smile faded, but not completely.  <i>This feels </i>so good<i>.  Like nothing else.</i>, he thought, flopping back down onto the mattress from where he had been perched on his elbows into almost a sitting position.  <i>But we have to get it figured out.  I shouldn't'a taken that opportunity to just </i>feel<i>.  Or this morning, either.</i>  He ran a hand over his face.  <i>Can't take it back now.  So we'll just have to cool it long before Peter gets back in on Tuesday.</i>  He nodded through his decision.  <i>Tonight.  I'll nip this in the bud tonight to make sure it ends before tomorrow.  That'll give us more'n enough time to get calmed down and back to normal.</i>  But he couldn't rid himself of the unbelievable feeling of having Micky look at him like that, body pressed up against him, mouth on his...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>70mtt and Lauren_StDavid are super!  Thank you again for helping me improve this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C2 - SATURDAY/CHRISTMAS, THE DAY AFTER</p>
<p>Mike felt light as a feather, what with the euphoria in this new state coupled with letting responsibility stray — for the time being.</p>
<p>They sailed down the highway at a good clip, not much traffic on the road.  Eventually, every few minutes, Micky would look over his direction with an impish and very pleased grin.  Weirded-out cautious about this wonderful thing they'd both stumbled upon, at first he had tried to suppress his reaction, but seeing that Mike had a <i>just</i>-discernible matching grin adorning his face caused him to drop the coy act soon enough.</p>
<p>They were satisfied to, again <i>for now</i> in Mike's case and against his better judgement, simply enjoy whatever this was.  It couldn't have been more out of character for him to put off thinking about the future, but he knew such thinking would turn to worry and throw a gloomy attitude on what he wanted to be a good day for Micky and his family.  And, knowing he only had so long like this with Micky, he had every intention of living in the moment.</p>
<p>It was almost an hour after they left the pad when Mike pulled his apple red Pontiac up to the curb in front of Micky's well-kept suburban childhood home.  Before the curly-haired man could sprint out of the car in glee, he felt the weight of a hand on his arm.  He looked back to catch the abruptly and incongruously serious look on Mike's face.</p>
<p><i>Damn it.  Micky is naturally so honest.  And he wears his heart on his sleeve.  How could he be expected to keep something like this a secret?</i>  But there was nothing to be done for it at the last minute apart from asking him to keep a handle on himself.  "Don' say anything about...", with a flick of his eyes, he left unspoken their new, temporary dynamic.  He most feared Micky's potential reactions, conscious and unconscious, to what Micky had mentioned to him the evening before about all the random life questions his mother would be expected to unleash upon him.</p>
<p>It took half a second for Micky to register what Mike had meant.  He furrowed his brow just a bit <i>Why would I do that?</i> while shaking his head once.  "I won't."  Brushing it off with a goofy look, he hopped out of the car and bounded up to the door with only marginally less enthusiasm than expected.  Mike followed behind him laden with their overnight bags in his left hand and a sack full of cleaned tupperware from Thanksgiving to be returned along with his guitar case in his right.  Micky, assuring him it would be no bother at all, had talked him into them staying over tonight since Micky had missed doing so last night.  The idea didn't put Mike out; he wanted Micky to enjoy his time with his family, after all.</p>
<p>"Micky!"  The multiple, echoing shrieks of his name emanated from inside the house.  Before he knew it, the screen door was flung open, and his sisters were attacking him.  They were even more happy and bouncy than he was.  Once they backed off a bit, his remaining parent enveloped him in a hug which he returned gladly with a kiss to her cheek.  "Hi, Mom!"</p>
<p>"We're all so glad to see you.  And you as well!", she greeted, setting her sights on her son's tall, quiet friend keeping to the background.</p>
<p>"Hello, Mrs. Dolenz.", Mike replied, tensing when she went in for a hug.  He had never really been hugged for no reason before moving into the pad with the guys, so he was still getting used to it.  But despite everything he was carrying, he put forth the effort to make a reasonable rendition of a hug so that she didn't seem to notice a bit.  The smirk on Micky's face when his mother fawned over him was not lost on him, and he acquiesced the point about chicks digging him, or at least this "chick" in what was a more platonic or motherly way.</p>
<p>It was true, the other guys had been trying to fix him up with girls since he'd known them, and he had shown mild interest before.  It had been expected of him.  "Before" was when it hadn't yet sunk in with him all those months ago that he definitively had a thing for his best friend and roommate.  With the "after" came a far less than tepid interest in anyone else.  He would shrug just to get through the queries about the lack of dates and through the suggestions of what to do to get into the game which he would then ignore.  Yes, he could admit now that he'd been suppressing a crush on Micky.  But it wasn't as though he had been pining over him or anything of the sort; he just couldn't seem to shake off even the vague <i>thought</i> of Micky in order to let him be interested enough in anyone else.  He hadn't realized it at the time, but he had unknowingly been comparing anyone he <i>might've</i> gone out with to Micky in various ways, which is to say, they simply weren't him.  Micky took up space in his head.  When he first noticed he was having weird feelings about his friend, he had assumed that he'd get over them after a week or two and move on without another thought on the matter, that maybe it was just a bug he'd picked up that was temporarily messing with his head.  But, to his confusion, that didn't happen.  He never had gotten over those feelings, and now, at this much later date, those feelings having become progressively intrusive, his conscious mind couldn't even let him begin to entertain the idea of being with anyone else.</p>
<p>Mike let out a breath when he caught Micky beaming brightly at him from near the screen door.  Sure, Micky had smiled at him a million times before — that's just who he was, and that was part of why Mike felt the way about him that he did.  Micky was naturally ebullient and smiled at everyone, even people who didn't like him.  But this... this time, like a number of other times in recent months he could suddenly put a mental finger on if he'd let himself, it was something a little different, something more, something special just for him.  It had a magnetizing effect on every cell of Mike's body.  The new strength of it forced him to look away, both from not wanting to be obvious about his reaction and from the self-consciousness at garnering attention, and such positive attention at that.  He had never felt this strong of a feeling before, nor had he ever been doted on in his life, and he didn't know how to handle himself.  He was naturally tempted to duck for cover somewhere and hide out until everybody had forgotten he was around.</p>
<p>But this wasn't the place or time where that was likely to be possible, and he was promptly brought out of his internal distress by someone talking, speaking to the both of them.  It was Micky's mother who was glancing between the two boys.  <i>Oh, she's still standing next to me.  And she's looking at me.</i>, his brain caught up.</p>
<p>"I had them head straight out here without looking under the tree to say hello to you boys, but they are quite eager to see what Santa brought them.", she said, lovingly stroking her seven-year-old daughter's hair who, with a bounce, smiled up at her with 'Oh please oh please oh please' eyes.  The younger two of the clan were still keenly awaiting the magic whereas Coco, at fifteen, was old enough both to know where it came from (but no less thankful) and to know to keep her mouth shut to not spoil the fun.  "So go on in before they combust.", she good-naturedly shooed them all inside.</p>
<p>And combust they did moments later in a swirl of squeals with wrapping paper flying and chatter unceasing.</p>
<p>"Please get comfortable.  I'll take your bags to the other room.", she said over the excitement, taking them and the sack without giving Mike a chance to argue about it beyond a negative beginning grunt of a word.  He sat his guitar case, the only carried item with which he was still burdened, down on the carpet next to a comfy-looking chair, then spied the coat rack and removed his fringed jacket onto it while Micky went further into the family room with his sisters to see what they had gotten from the jolly old man — which was, in truth, his mother helped out a bit by him.</p>
<p>As compared to her sisters, who were just as satisfied with the wrapping paper they'd torn up as they were with their gifts, Coco took more time opening her present which turned out to be a 35mm camera along with some film.  She'd mentioned to her mother developing an interest in photography a few months prior, having a friend who was into it, and her mother must have remembered.  Quite pleased and increasingly intrigued with the gift, she looked it over from every angle and then started reading the instructions.</p>
<p>After the excitement died down a bit and Janelle had gotten her fill of the kids enjoying what they'd gotten, she went to the kitchen, put the tupperware up, and fixed breakfast.  "Food's ready!", she called out into the family room awhile later.</p>
<p>Mike and Micky were the first in the door, the other three understandably still a little distracted.  "Thank you, ma'am.", he automatically filled in the respectable designation for her.</p>
<p>"Janelle.", she gently corrected him, momentarily placing a kind hand on his arm before turning to the counter.</p>
<p>And the next thing he knew, he was seated between her and Micky at the table, a mouthwatering plate of bacon, eggs, and buttered toast appearing in front of him courtesy of her hand.  "Thank you."  He left off her name, not quite finding it easy to get that familiar with an elder he'd only met briefly once before.</p>
<p>Micky spoke up in-between shoveling in mouthfuls of eggs.  "I think Coco likes the camera."</p>
<p>"I really think she does.  Thank you for helping with that.", she gave him a warm smile.</p>
<p>"'Course!"</p>
<p>The girls started appearing in the room with them then.  "No toys at the table, Gina.", Janelle admonished, seeing her youngest enter with one of her presents.</p>
<p>The little girl in question stopped right before she got to her chair, put her new doll behind it, and seated herself as if that were the obvious solution to the problem.</p>
<p>"Will we see Grandma and Grandpa today?", asked Debbie.</p>
<p>"You absolutely will.", her mother confirmed to eager noises from the younger ones around the table.  "Early this afternoon.  So Mike," she turned her focus to him, "I'm sorry to hear you missed your flight back home."</p>
<p>"Oh, uh, thanks.  That was my fault."</p>
<p>"He at least got to talk to his mom yesterday.", Micky offered.</p>
<p>She felt badly that Mike couldn't be with her today.  "She's in Texas, isn't she?"  And the conversation continued on from there, Janelle querying Mike with interest as to how his mother was, what she did for a living, and where in Texas she was, since her own parents were from there as well.  And more questions about his life stemmed from his answers.  She was glad to get to know more about her son's best friend who seemed like a perfectly nice person.</p>
<p>After they ate, Micky ran off to play with his little sisters who had been all but begging through breakfast to be excused early.  Mike hung back to help clean up the dishes that had been abandoned on the table and countertop by those eager to engage in more exciting childhood activities.  It was what he often ended up doing at home as well, so he didn't think twice about it.</p>
<p>"You don't have to do anything.", Micky's mother tutted as he started clearing off the table.  "The girls won't mind if you hang out with them."  She looked over at those she was referring to and made a face, wishing she would have stopped after her first sentence due to realizing her fifteen-year-old in particular probably would not mind spending time with a good-looking boy like Mike in spite of him being far too old for her.</p>
<p>He followed her line of sight to Coco, who was aiming her camera at her siblings, and his attention went from there immediately over to Micky who was already on the floor of the family room surrounded by the two younger girls showing him this and that.  An absent-minded smile crossed his features as he watched them.  Micky had once said he wanted a bunch of kids some day, and it looked to Mike like he was getting in some good practice here with his little sisters.  "Nah, that's okay.  I'll help you first and then see what they're up to."</p>
<p>Observing, she saw something there, but she wasn't about to voice her speculation out loud to him.  It wasn't that he was a total stranger to the family, having visited along with Micky and the other two boys once before, but they were hardly close enough to get into topics <i>that</i> personal.  "Well, thank you.", she commented regarding his offer before taking a plate from him.  "Micky always speaks very highly of you, and I don't disagree with him."</p>
<p>Embarrassed, Mike ducked his head and mumbled out some nonsensical and possibly somewhat self-deprecating syllables while cleaning off the table.</p>
<p>She just grinned at his shyness.  His personality seemed night and day from her son's and yet complementary all the same.  Glancing back at the merriment coming from the other room, she commented, "Last Christmas wasn't the easiest.  It's so good to see them all smiling again."</p>
<p>Mike agreed and found words then, a protectiveness coming over him.  "It was hard seeing him down.  He's always so...", he trailed off, then shrugged with a renewed small smile of his own.  "You know.  Him."</p>
<p>She knew very well.  "I appreciate you keeping him safe and in good spirits for me.  I worry about him."</p>
<p>He nodded once, understanding well the worrying about him part, not only in the general sense but also ever since he lost his dad whom he was close to; Mike wasn't always sure, especially early on with that, if he was happy or if he was just acting, and Mike would go out of his way to get his mind off things.  "He's doin' just fine.", he replied with confidence.</p>
<p>"Micky tells me you're the best guitar player he knows.  And the best songwriter.", she said, changing topics.</p>
<p>He blushed, looking down.  "Well, I haven't made a living off it yet, but I'm tryin'.  We all are."</p>
<p>"I'd love to hear it.  Why don't you play some for us later?"</p>
<p>Before they had left the pad, Micky had convinced him to bring his guitar along specifically to help him entertain the family with a few songs.  "Sure, I can do that."  He then developed a gleam in his eye from her question and kind of laughed fondly.  "Micky'll sing overtop it."</p>
<p>"No doubt.", she laughed as well, understanding what he meant and also appreciating, in both senses, that it could very well happen.</p>
<p>He would gladly pay to hear Micky sing if he didn't get to hear it for free every day of his life.  <i>He could sing me the phone book, and I would listen to every last note.</i>, he thought, eyes distantly focused for a moment, the corner of his mouth unconsciously tugged up.  "His singing is better than my playing."</p>
<p>She cocked her head, not quite sure of that statement based on what her son had told her about Mike's talents.  "Then I look forward to hearing you both."</p>
<p>Just then, a snap was heard and a flash was seen, at which they turned their heads to find Coco in the doorway, her camera now aimed at them.</p>
<p>It wasn't long before Janelle's parents came over to see her and their grandchildren and give them some gifts of their own, and more family photos were taken.  Friendly introductions were also made between them and Mike.  While he was perfectly comfortable around Micky and to a certain extent was getting comfortable around Micky's mother and sisters, he felt once again tempted to hide away in a corner, this time due to feeling as though he were intruding on private time.  The family wouldn't have that, though, and they were all sure to include him in their discussions.  Janelle began by telling them that Mike was also from Texas, and another series of questions followed from there, such as where he grew up and what he thought about life out here on the west coast.</p>
<p>Micky was clearly amused by Mike getting all the attention, and Mike responded with a knowing, unoffended eyebrow raised his direction.  Then the young Texan was jarred out of easy talk by Micky's grandpa who commented, "I'd expect a young man like yourself to be back with your family on Christmas, or with your girl's family."</p>
<p>After the first half of the presupposing comment, Mike frowned a bit, and after the second half, his cheeks flushed mildly in alarm.  But before he could reply, Gina entered the conversation.  "He missed his flight!", she supplied eagerly, looking around to see if the others were proud of her for her listening skills.  And her being small and cute, they responded in the affirmative.</p>
<p>All the pressure was taken off of him to respond when Janelle cut in for him.  "Gina's right," she agreed.  "Mike wasn't able to get home this year, unfortunately.  That's why Micky invited him to stay with us for Christmas.  Which makes me think it would be fun to share with him some photos of our own family holidays."  Micky lightheartedly groaned while she went over to the built-in bookshelf there in the family room, pulled out a well-worn family photo album, and proceeded to embarrass him in front of Mike who found charming each of the photos he saw of a younger, adorable Micky.  Commentary by the others faded into the background.  The two boys' eyes met with a grin — Micky's abashed, Mike's delighted — with every page turned.  And with every photo and accompanying story his mother told of each of the memories Mike had never been present to experience, the essence of who Micky was worked his way into his heart further.  He wished he could have had family gatherings like these when he was growing up but was grateful to be able to experience this one with Micky now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to my betas, 70mtt and Lauren_StDavid.  Lauren in particular made this chapter much more readable.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C3 - SATURDAY/CHRISTMAS, NIGHT</p>
<p>Micky was glad to have convinced Mike, who went along with mostly painless agreement, that they should spend the night at his mom's house.  The latter had the concern that he might be overstepping into even more private family time, to which Micky assured him was "no way" the case, and that was the end of that discussion.  The younger man really did miss sleeping over with his family for Christmas like he had all his prior years, so Mike wasn't about to deny him that.  Staying over made sense anyway because the weather had not been forecasted to be fantastic, and by the time it had gotten dark, it had started to rain a little.</p>
<p>It was around this time that the ladies of the house requested they all sing some festive music before the little ones had to be put to bed.  The guys took no convincing, though Mike was still a little shy about such things.  But he covered for himself well when Micky started them off with "Jingle Bell Rock" and he and the rest of the family joined right in, gatherning around in a circle in the living room.  That was followed by "Do You Hear What I Hear?", "God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen", and, thanks again to Micky beginning it, the Paul &amp; Paula version of "Jingle Bells".  To the enchantment of their audience, Mike and Micky finished alone with their rendition of "Riu Riu Chiu" in two parts instead of four, a brief round of applause following their last note.</p>
<p>Coco had snapped her last two photos of the night having no idea if they would turn out or not.  The grandparents said goodbye to everyone and wished Mike well before the left.  With the evening having wound down, and with Janelle having settled the two youngest girls in for the night well past their normal bedtime, she asked her eldest, "Coco, why don't you sleep with me tonight like you did last year so Mike and Micky can have your big bed?"</p>
<p>The girl had taken over and redecorated Micky's room when he had moved out of the house, thrilled to have her own space away from her younger sisters.  So upon hearing her mother's idea, she was parts annoyed that her brother might mess with her stuff and parts intrigued at having a handsome boy like Mike gracing her room's presence.  Due to more readily entertaining the latter thought, she stopped short of complaining.</p>
<p>When it came to Mike, however, the suggestion had the singular and instant effect of putting him on high alert.  <i>Sharing a bed with Micky a second time?  And under his mother's roof?</i>  He quickly glanced around for alternate accommodations.  "Don' worry 'bout me.", he said aloud.  "I can take the couch."</p>
<p>"Don't be silly.  You'll be far more comfortable in the queen-sized bed."  Janelle's tone was firm.</p>
<p>The last thing he wanted to do was to be rude and argue with his generous host, but all the same... <i>This can't happen again.  Least of all here.</i></p>
<p>Cool as a cucumber, Micky looked over to her, then back at Mike with a shrug.  "It's true; the couch is lumpy.  Here, you can go ahead and use the bathroom first, and I'll go second."  He nodded his head toward the hall.  In the meantime, Coco changed into her pajamas in her room, but in no time she opened the door to leave, taking a few items into her mother's bedroom with her for the evening.</p>
<p>Once in the doorway to the newly vacated bedroom, Mike took in the situation at hand and, feeling a little detached, blinked.  "I'll sleep on the floor."  He meant for his voice to sound stronger than what it had actually come out as, which was more achy and surrendery.</p>
<p>Micky, who had already gone in ahead of him, had fished out his own pajamas from his overnight bag.  "Are you crazy?"  He popped up to notice that Mike had taken his overnight bag in hand once again.  "Put that back down, change, and get in bed already.  It's no big deal.  I'll be back in a jiffy."  Before leaving him to it, he lingered just a hair long enough, his line of sight tracking to Mike's lips and back up, indicating he'd briefly considering something and then thought better of it.</p>
<p>After he left the room, Mike relaxed a miniscule amount and breathed out.  Putting his bag back down on the floor, he got to work changing into his pajamas before Micky had a chance to get back.  He turned down the covers and slid in, starting to get settled in on the near side of the bed.  Him sleeping nearest the door had been their arrangement ever since they had started sharing a room because Mike was almost always the one to wake up first, and it allowed for him to make the least disturbance.  He clicked on the lamp on the nightstand next to him.  After a minute, he heard a "shave and a haircut" tap on the door, to which he verbally answered "Ten cents." without batting an eye.</p>
<p>Normally they wouldn't bother knocking for one another — politely averting their eyes was enough — but Micky thought it best to knock in case Mike was, he gulped at the thought, naked and his sister or mother who were still up might catch a glimpse of him.  After Mike's answer, in came Micky on cue, his own clothes changed, and he saw that Mike's were too.  Micky was still in good spirits but was quickly running out of steam from all the romping with his sisters coupled with his lack of eight hours of sleep the night before due to certain activities they'd engaged in.  He wondered how Mike was internally handling all socializing and if he was tired out too.  "Whatcha got there?", he asked more quietly than he would have were the younger girls not asleep, tossing his cothes from the day onto the floor in front of the closet next to their bags.</p>
<p>There were a handful of brightly-colored teen magazines on the bed which Coco had not thought to clean off and which Mike had moved into a pile.  One of them, the red one which Micky had specifically referred to, Mike had picked up to look at half a minute earlier.  At Micky's inquiry, he flipped it back to the front and read the top tag line:  "'The Beatles:  Is this their farewell fling?'"</p>
<p>Reading Mike's mind on that notion, Micky commented, "Let's hope not."  He clicked off the overhead light switch by the doorway, padded over to the far side of the bed, and flopped down, looking over the other magazines by the light of the lamp.  He picked out a yellow one that also had The Beatles on the cover.  "'Exclusive Photos, Intimate Secrets'.", he read, following it with a quiet, low, scandalous whistle.</p>
<p>Mike chuckled, his heart having slowed again to a normal pace before Micky had taken up residence on the bed next to him.  The mere feel of Micky's presence next to him made his conscious thoughts start to blur a bit.</p>
<p>"'Are Summer Romances Doomed?'", he read the second tag from the one Mike was still holding, glancing toward him with eyebrows lifted.  "Good thing it's December!"</p>
<p>"Shhhhh.", he chastised softly, scandalized at the thought of Micky's family overhearing.  And at the same time, he internally froze up at Micky hinting at their ...temporary — no, previous — situation.</p>
<p>Undeterred, Micky slid the magazines around to pick out a different one and moved up the bed closer to Mike, stage whispering.  "'Perfume tips for a more kissable you:  Get with a swish hairdo and a snazzy dress, slosh on lots of perfume, and go where the boys are.'"</p>
<p>Mike made a face imagining being easily overwhelmed by chicks with girly perfume.  "I'm not so sure about that one.", he replied, laying down the magazine he'd been looking at.</p>
<p>"You said it yourself:  You're too fussy.  But I won't complain because you <i>not</i> taking this advice has worked in my favor."  Before Mike could respond, Micky had flipped the pages, stopping on one, and was speaking again.  "The art of being kissable:  Being Mike Nesmith."  He scratched his head as if astounded that's what was written there.  "Huh."</p>
<p>"Oh, hush."  Though still paranoid about being overheard and still disturbed at having improper thoughts about Micky in general, he rolled his eyes, blushing imperceptibly in the low light.  "It does not say that."</p>
<p>"But it does!", Micky grinned widely, leaning over with the magazine and pointing at the cover, "accidentally" leaning in close enough to peck Mike on the cheek in the process before the Texan realized what was happening and could move away.  "And he doesn't reek of perfume, either!  My lucky day."</p>
<p>Though smiling impulsively, Mike was hardly comfortable enough in someone else's house to put up with the small display of affection.  "We gotta cool it here, Mick."  His plan, such as it was — having so far coalesced into nothing more than a vague and ephemeral idea — was to let him down gently.</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah, I know.", he said, shifting the magazines back into a pile and dropping them on the floor on his side of the bed.  But his spirit was not dampened.  "Just one smooch in the dark.  Then I'll behave myself.  Promise."  Although he had never gotten up to any funny business in his mother's house before, he was well aware she would be less than pleased if he tried it with his little sisters around.  And with Mike?  He for sure didn't want her to find out about them that way any time soon.</p>
<p>One quick kiss and done?  Though he himself remained silent, Mike's eyes suggested he couldn't possibly figure out how to say no to that measured offer.  <i>One last kiss.</i>  The thought was as somber as it was calming.</p>
<p>Micky stretched across him, bracing himself on one side with a hand on the bed before clicking off the lamp by the bedside with the other.  On his way back down, his now-free left hand found the side of Mike's face, his lips willingly obliging Micky's when they subsequently met.</p>
<p>To Mike's great enjoyment, with Micky's fingers caressing his temple and cheek, the kiss lasted a satisfactory length time and was sweet without becoming hot.</p>
<p>Micky broke it off, and they both took a breath, for a moment staring at one another in the dark.  Sated, Micky retreated and settled down on his back, pulling the covers up over the top of them both.  He then found Mike's hand between them.  Loosely interlacing their fingers together, he gave it a squeeze, which was, he was charmed to feel, returned.</p>
<p>"G'night, Micky.", he bid to sleep the one who held his heart, as much as he had tried not to admit it.  He was a little frustrated in himself for accepting the kiss; he didn't want to lead him on more than he already had.  And boy had he.  But all the same, he couldn't help it.</p>
<p>"Good night, Mike.", he replied with a happy smile.</p>
<p>As they lay side by side in the bed roomier than their own, not needing to be smooshed together even if they had wanted to be, the older boy got to thinking.  <i>Maybe I should bring it up to him now.  It'd be less pressure for us to argue about the rationale of it in this environment, anyway.  No doubt he'll be a little disappointed.  But some disappointment for one day'll be better than a whole heap a' years'-long regret.  After all, he likes girls, and that's the way it should be.  It wouldn't be fair for him t' catch hell and get stuck with an undetachable label just because a' me.</i>  His mind on overdrive in contrast to the late-ish hour, he finally, softly spoke up in the darkness.  "Hey, Mick?"</p>
<p>But he must have been drifting in thought for too long before he spoke up because he was met only with silence and uniform breathing; Micky, fingers now limp, was already out cold.</p>
<p><i>Boy, when he's awake, he's sure awake, but when he ain't...  It's like he has a switch on him just like a light.</i>  Fingers still mostly interlaced, he ran his thumb over Micky's, ever so lightly and slowly so as not to wake him, and tried to calm the tender ache that was building in his chest.  <i>On the way home tomorrow.</i>, he told himself.  <i>We'll break this off on the way home.</i></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No reviews on the last chapter, sniff!, but I hope someone out there thought the end of the chapter was cute anyway.</p><p>Cheers to 70mtt and Lauren_StDavid once again.  Lauren is great at trying to improve my writing, but I can be resistant to change!  All errors mine.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C4 - SUNDAY, MORNING</p><p>"Good morning, boys."  Janelle smiled warmly as Mike, with Micky hot on his heels, made it into the kitchen while the girls were still asleep.</p><p>Mike had just woken up a few of minutes prior, getting out of bed before anything at all could have the potential to happen, so he hadn't yet had time to think through anything at all.  In fact, he found that most of his initial cogitive function this morning had been reserved for concentrating on not noisily bumping into anything in the unfamiliar environment of the bedroom, hall, or bathroom in his sleep-addled haze, particularly while he was changing his clothes.  And the next thing he knew, here Micky was behind him, dressed as well and looking perfectly chipper.</p><p>"Morning, Mom!"</p><p>"Good morning, Mrs.- Janelle.", he corrected awkwardly before turning and giving a small, curious, lopsided grin at his vivacious companion.  "What's got you wide awake this early, Mick?"</p><p>Micky's mouth split wide in a grin focused back at him.  "Life, man.  Life!"</p><p>Mike chuckled and shook his head slightly.</p><p>In the midst of what amounted to them making vertical pillow talk but not watching them to pay attention to that fact, Janelle spoke up, more to herself than anything.  "Shoot."</p><p>"What's that?", Micky asked around a mouthful of turkey he'd snatched from the counter shortly after walking in.</p><p>His mother backed out from spelunking around inside the refrigerator.  "Oh, we're almost out of butter.  I thought I had an extra stick, but I suppose not."</p><p>"I'll go get some for you.", a now well-awake Mike piped up helpfully, going to grab his jacket from where he'd left it the day before.</p><p>"No you don't.  I'll just go out while the girls are in school tomorrow."  More softly, she said with a hand on hip, thinking out loud, "We'll figure something else out for today."</p><p>"It's no problem, M— Janelle."  He fished the keys out of his jacket pocket and checked the other pocket for his billfold.</p><p>"Mike, really.  No.  You don't ha—"</p><p>"Don't argue with him, Mom.", Micky laughed with his interruption, teasingly eyeing Mike.  "He'll out-Mom you if you push him."</p><p>The man in question tried and failed not to grin at Micky with a touch of exasperation, finding the knowing look on his boy's face coquettish to the point of captivating.  Much like the look he got from Micky yesterday shortly after they'd arrived here, Mike had to force himself to look away.</p><p>His mother softly chuckled through a sigh and made a put-out, amused face at Mike.</p><p>Sobering up just as she looked over at him, he courteously pressed, "That all you need?"</p><p>She hummed with affected drama, then added an extra item.  "Milk?"</p><p>He nodded, obliging.</p><p>"I'll go get you some money."</p><p>"I won't take it.", he stated firmly.</p><p>There was that gratefully frustrated face from her again.</p><p>"Want me to go with you?", Micky asked him.</p><p>But Janelle had other ideas.  "How about you stay and catch up with your only mother before the girls wake up?", she recommended before Mike could respond to him.</p><p>"Sure.", he shot her a happy smile before giving Mike directions to the nearest grocery store a few streets over.  Once the Texan was out of the door and headed for his car, Micky gave her his full attention, leaning back against the counter.  "Did you honestly think he'd take money from you?"</p><p>She shook her head.  "No, but it was right to offer.  He's a good kid."  She glanced at the food she'd recently laid out on the counter.  "You can be a good kid too by helping me heat up some of this food before he gets back and the girls get up."</p><p>Micky went to work doing just that.</p><p>"Really, it's very kind of him.  Which reminds me, I should mention it to you again:  I appreciate you sending money back to us, but I hate that you're working so much.  You're young and should have some time for yourself."</p><p>"I'm still at the music store.  It's not a hard job, and I get to hear all the latest releases and play around with some of the instruments we have in stock.  I don't mind it at all.  Keeps me busy and out of trouble, right?"  He knew his mother would be amused that this activity gave him some focus because as a kid he was always being told he was all over the place.  Not that Mike would disagree  with that assessment given it was still true about him as an adult.</p><p>"Speaking of, we've missed you this year."</p><p>"Aw, Mom, I don't mean to be gone all the time—"</p><p>"No, I know you have your life.  All I'm saying is that I'm just sad that you've grown up so fast and are an independent young man now."</p><p>"I don't know about that.", he responded truthfully with a small laugh.  <i>The three of us are pretty much tied to Mike's hip.</i>  "Mike takes pretty good care of me and the guys.  He for sure keeps us out of trouble.  Well, most of the time.  Well, as much as he can.", he amended with a sheepish grin.</p><p>She smiled.  "So you've said before."  Her next words came out so easily and naturally that he never saw them coming.  "How long have you two...?", she left her question intentionally open-ended.  She didn't make eye contact, working at the stove as if she had just asked a pedestrian question on par with 'What do you usually eat during your lunch breaks at work?'.</p><p>His breathing hitched, and his vision started to narrow down while time seemed to slow to a stop as his brain ground to a halt at what she was asking.  "Wh—  I—  Whaddya mean?"</p><p>"Micky, I'm not upset.  Not really.  I'm just wondering."</p><p><i>How... How does she know?</i>  He hadn't even taken the time yet to begin to consider how displeased she might be to learn her son was 'like that' with Mike.  Or with any guy.  She was normally an open and understanding woman, certainly, but he'd found that sometimes with people, when an issue would hit close to home for them, their opinion could suddenly color and warp.  He hadn't been prepared in the least for this to come out now.  And he knew Mike sure wasn't.  <i>How did she figure it out?  Did I say something?</i></p><p>She wiped her hands on her apron and finally looked over at him then, apparently reading his mind.  "I'm your mother."</p><p><i>How long have we...</i>, he repeated her question in his head.  He could lie to her.  He could play it off as him not understanding what she meant or being disgusted by what she implied or being offended on Mike's behalf.  Any of those things.  <i>That would be what a ...a </i>normal<i> guy would do — deny it, distance himself from it, even get angry about it — right?</i>  But he had never liked lying to his mother.  He was bad at it besides, having never been in possession of anything resembling a poker face.</p><p>While he contemplated just how to give an honest response, before he knew it, seconds had ticked by, and he was looking stupidly, blankly mute, staring past her off into oblivion.  He had to say something.  And now it'd been so long that there was no way he could reply in any fashion besides honestly anyway, even if he couldn't quite look her in the eye at the same time as speaking.</p><p>So, eyes dropping down, he picked at a bit of skin on the side of his thumbnail.  "Since the night before last."  Er, not quite what he intended to say — maybe a little too direct and factual — but there it was.  It was out in the open now, the knowledge no longer confined between the two young men in question.  As fear trickled into his veins at having exposed them, especially after Mike had <i>specifically</i> pleaded with him not to say anything to his family right now, he made a mental note to work on learning how to be convincingly evasive.  As if that would even fly with his mother anyway.</p><p>"Ah.  That must be it."</p><p>Her simple, agreeable-sounding statement set him back on edge, and he looked right back up at her.  "'That'?  What do you mean 'it'?"</p><p>"That must be why I could tell.  That dreamy look I've caught in your eyes a few times now."  She didn't specify whether she meant him exclusively or both him and Mike, but he assumed the former.</p><p>His mouth drooped open.  <i>Oh boy.  Oh man.</i>  He worked his jaw up and down a couple of times before finding sounds to exit with the movement.  "He's gonna flip out.", he said aloud, biting down on his lower lip.  <i>I didn't think for a second I'd given us away.  I can't believe I—</i></p><p>"I won't say a word."</p><p>He looked at her, confused as much as appreciative, and had to admit that if he could trust anyone, it'd be his own mother.  If she said she wouldn't say anything, then she really wouldn't say anything to anyone — even, as she indicated, to Mike.</p><p>"I can't say I don't understand."  She raised and dropped her eyebrows in a shrug.  "He's terribly sweet.  Helpful, responsible, steady, quiet, handsome.", she rattled off all positive adjectives which had a calming effect on Micky.  "I think his presence has been very good for you."</p><p>Micky had to blink at that.  His mom standing there saying those complimentary things about Mike just to be saying them was one thing because yes, being a woman with a pulse, she was charmed to the bone by Mike, no question in his mind.  But her saying all those complimentary things in relation to the two of them being together <i>as a couple</i>?  That was something else.  He'd never really talked to her about this sort of thing before and never really expected he'd have to.  "He is."  His reply was just as thoughtful as hers, and he couldn't help but form a smile thinking about him.  "He's all that and more.  He's been my best friend since, well, since we met.  But you knew that part already."</p><p>"I did.  So," she stirred some leftovers on the stove, "what made you decide 'the night before last'?"</p><p>Micky's smile gleamed.  "He— well— I mean I guess I've probably always had a crush on him.  But I would've never...  Because I had no idea he felt that way about me.  Except Davy had hung up mistletoe around the pad before he left, and I happened to be standing under one, and Mike worked up the courage.  Said he was gonna kiss me, and then he did.  And it went from there.", he reminisced with warmth, politely leaving out the details.</p><p>She nodded at his recounting of the innocent story.  "As long you're not confusing your feelings."</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>"That you don't think of him as a father figure, since...", she trailed off, the end of the thought not needing to be said aloud.</p><p>"What?", his eyes went wide.  "<i>Yuck</i>, Mom, no!", he cried quietly so as not to wake his sisters.  "It's <i>nothing</i> like that!"  Suddenly feeling queasy, he leaned forward and faintly flapped his hands in the negative in front of him.  "Nothing like that at all.  I think of him as <i>Mike</i>."</p><p>"All right, that's fine, then."  She patted him on the arm and smiled tenderly at him before a cloud settled over her features.  If they hadn't already talked some and she hadn't sounded tolerant of the situation, he would have assumed her expression was the heavy look of disappointment he'd expect from any parent upon hearing their son was involved with another man.  But instead it was merely the concerned lead-in to her dispensing an important warning:  "Micky, you need to be very, <i>very</i> careful out there.  <i>Very</i> careful.  Most people in this world aren't so understanding, and there could easily be some irreparable harm done if it got out."</p><p>"Yeah.", he nodded solemnly, swallowing.  "I know.  I know about that.  And I will."  With a sympathetic nod from her, he sagged back against the counter, the tension seeping out of him.  "We'll be really careful, I promise.  Thanks, Mom.  You're the best.", he added with an asymmetrical smile after a pause.  What else could he say?  That she was giving her blessing without dressing it up with one personally negative word on the front or back of it was in and of itself pretty incredible.  He reminded himself just how lucky he was to have a family like his to care for him and look after him and wished not for the first time that Mike could experience that level of support from more of his own relatives.</p><p>Truly, he knew he had been coasting so far, not having had a pressing reason to give much thought to what others would think of the two of them being together.  When it came to their roommates, he was sure he knew how Peter would take it.  Who he wasn't so sure about was Davy.  He'd always thought of Davy as the little brother he never had, so he would be devastated if the Englishman severed their friendship over it.  Not knowing how he would be able to cope with that, he chose to push all the thoughts on the topic into the back of his mind to consider and discuss with Mike later, preferably at the last possible second.</p><p>At any rate, there was no way he was going to tell Mike that his mother knew anything because Mike would worry about things unnecessarily.  So it would have to be their secret for the time being, at least until Mike felt comfortable enough with her.  <i>And I'll have to be more careful about how I look at him when other people are around.</i>, he reminded himself, the mere idea of it already making him miss his guy.</p><p>His mother leaned forward and pinched his cheek lightly.  "You're doing it again."</p><p>He cringed.</p><p>She just shook her head, not sure what to do with him.  She didn't know that she wasn't alone in that as Mike didn't know what to do with him either.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>By the time the Texan returned, the girls had gotten up and about.  Micky had opened the door for him with a purposefully anemic smile, which was returned in kind, and his eyes flicked between Mike and his mother as her guest handed over the procured items to her.  She nodded, following that with a friendly "Thank you, Mike.  That was very nice of you."</p><p>Nothing seemed any different between them, he noted.  His mother wasn't looking at Mike any differently than she had before.  Nothing seemed different from normal about either one of them.  Mike was still Mike.  <i>So is anything really different at all?</i></p><p>He contemplated if his feelings for Mike had changed him at all or if what they had done together changed them as people.  <i>We haven't had sex yet.  Will </i>that<i> change us, make us different?</i>, he wondered.  When he and Mike were intimate for the first time on Christmas Eve, he thought it felt odd only at first because it was <i>Mike</i> and because the particular experience of touching a man's penis rather than, say, a woman's breasts was new to him.  Mike getting him off and him getting Mike off had felt terrific.  Not that terribly weird.  Truth be told, he was still in shock that Mike would let himself go like that.  <i>He looked incredible yesterday morning.</i>, Micky thought back, shivering in a good way.  He kept his head down with that thought, not trusting himself to look up at Mike or anyone else just then.  He couldn't make the mistake of giving anything away again.</p><p>What would people think indeed?  It wouldn't be good in any way, shape, or form, that he knew, even without the serious warning from his mother on that point.  He hadn't considered before now whether being with Mike 'like that' made him or would make him a homosexual.  He'd heard about those people a number of times and, the way many talked about them, they were most definitely made to sound <i>different</i>; dirty and unnatural — repulsive, even.  But Micky didn't feel any of those things on the inside.  Now that he'd experienced being with Mike, it seemed natural enough to him.</p><p>It was true that Micky had looked twice at a few guys before, but he was able to brush his stray thoughts off easily and quickly enough each time.  He hadn't ever genuinely considered going down that path before he started looking at Mike like that.  And even then, he'd tried to quash the feelings and not give them more than a moment's thought.  But now that this was real?  <i>I still like girls.</i>, he reminded himself, remembering all the young ladies who had caught his eye in the recent past.  <i>I like some guys alright, yes, I can admit that now.  And I definitely still like girls.  I just like Mike more.</i></p><p>The object of his current deep thoughts shed his jacket onto the back of a chair before sitting down at the table.  "Everything alright?", Mike asked off-handedly, finding Micky contemplative rather than talkative as he'd expected him to be with his sisters now running about the kitchen.</p><p>"Wha?", Micky snapped out of it.  "Oh, yeah.  Just thinking about stuff.", he shrugged his internal deliberations off with a smile.  "Hey, we heated up food.  Want some?"</p><p>Mike nodded although eyed Micky while the younger man grabbed him a plate and fork.  Thanking him, Mike put aside the slightly "off" vibe he had gotten from him when he'd come in.  <i>Hopefully he's having second thoughts.  That'll make it easier.</i>, he decided before tucking in to his breakfast.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C5 - SUNDAY, LATER</p><p>As the day went on, the girls got Micky to see the things they had done around the home and the school projects they had been involved in since he had last come by to visit them at Thanksgiving.  They played a couple of games of Yahtzee, and while the younger girls played Sorry!, the rest tried their abilities at Scrabble.  After a somewhat early dinner, rather than carols this time around, the girls requested the boys perform some of their original songs for them since none of Micky's family had never been to one of their shows.</p><p>Mike went to where his guitar had ended up behind the chair and retrieved it from its case.  He then joined Micky in seating himself on the hearth in front of the fireplace, Micky with his hands in-between his legs and Mike holding his guitar ready to play as directed.</p><p>The first request came from Micky's middle sister.  "Sing your band's theme song!"  Coco lifted up her camera to get a shot of them starting.</p><p>Mike picked a note, and they gave one another matching looks, then flapped their lips and tongues to mimic the drumming at the beginning.  "Here we cooommmeee...", Micky started.  While he got their small audience to clap along to the chorus, Mike strummed and joined him on a lower harmony for the chorus.</p><p>After the last note, there was applause.  "You sound <i>so</i> good!", exclaimed Debbie.</p><p>Mike nodded his thanks, then glanced at Micky, asking him to sing the main line, and began strumming the intro to "Look Out".</p><p>Without a hitch, Micky went with it while again clapping his hands in time causing all the ladies to join in and do the same, Mike echoing him on the verses.  Coco snapped another picture as Micky belted out the second chorus.  When it was over, he explained, "That's one Davy sings.  I barely play the drums to it."</p><p>They had a quick discussion about what other songs they might do.  "Gonna Buy Me a Dog?", Mike asked.</p><p>"That'd be fun.  Davy and I normally sing this one together.", Micky told their intimate audience.</p><p>As Mike was about to put his fingers to the strings to start the song off, his lips turned up.  "You mean you goof around."</p><p>"That too.", he bantered back easily with a little shove of his shoulder.</p><p>"Doesn't Mike get to sing any of them for real?", Coco asked her brother before adding in a bit more shyly to the other boy, "Your voice is really good."</p><p>"His voice <i>is</i> really good."  <i>Sexy as all get-out.</i>, he thought before agreeing aloud with, "I wish he'd sing more than he does.  Yesterday was a fluke."</p><p>Shyly, Mike kept his eyes trained on his frets.  "Davy and Micky are the front-men.  I'm just backup."</p><p>"What he means is that he's the brains behind the operation but that he should definitely sing more and get some recognition.  How about we do this song, then he sing you one on his own?", Micky volunteered him.</p><p>Mike just shook his head with a grin.  He proceeded to start this tune, and Micky sang the silly words with occasional help from Mike here and there.  If the sporadic giggles were any indication, the girls ate it up.  Afterward, Micky playfully bumped him with his arm and elbow.  "Do a thing, Mike."</p><p>Mike gave him a look that to anyone else would have seemed expressionless.  Then, "Any ol' thing?"</p><p>But Micky could read him and shot him back a smile.  "A sweet thing.", he clarified, batting his eyelashes at him.</p><p>Rather than get uptight about what prior to the other day he would have considered typical, silly, fake flirting, Mike decided to play it off as said typical, silly Micky behavior, which it was.  Mostly.  Kind of.  "Just a sweet thing?"</p><p>"Young too."</p><p>"Oh, I see.  That helps narrow it down.", he nodded, face still deadpan but eyes obviously glinting.  <i>Stop starin' or you're gonna fall.</i>, he chastised himself knowing he needed a distraction.  <i>Some distraction.  I wrote this song about him.</i>  Starting with a riff on his guitar, he dove in.  "I know that something very strange is happenin' to my brain..."</p><p>Having observed their easy interaction, Micky's mother looked on at them as they entertained the room.</p><p>"Sweet young thing...", her son filled in repeatedly on the backup part.  He had to continuously remind himself not to focus on Mike.  Even if Mike looked his way, he told himself he needed to not be so obvious about how he reacted.  It didn't exactly work, but he managed to avoid staring all googley-eyed at him like Davy in love, at the least.  That was, until he would look over at his mother and realized he didn't have had a chance of fooling her for a second.</p><p>Mike's song over, they decided to finish up with "For Pete's Sake", with Micky slapping the fireplace bricks on either side of himself as if they were drums.  The last notes were accompanied with a thorough round of eager applause.</p><p>And then the questions from the worked-up girls came at them left and right:  "How many girlfriends do you have?"  "How often do you put on shows?"  "Those are really your own songs?"  "Mom, can we go to their next concert?"  "You must have loads of people come out to hear you."</p><p>If they only had proper concerts, as Davy might say.  Regular gigs at clubs and restaurants is where their careers currently were, but they had been aspiring to bigger and better things.  "I don't think any of us have girlfriends right at the moment.", Micky started answering them.  "But boy do the girls flock to the stage at every show and chase us all over town in-between, right?", he looked to Mike.  There were those here and there who were interested, sure.  And they also had a miniscule, friendly following from one gig to the next, but nothing approaching droves of groupies wanting to tear their clothes off.  They wished!  <i>Maybe some day!</i></p><p>"Boy do they.", Mike played along with the outright lie with a grin which Janelle also saw through.  "They actually do all seem to fall in love with Davy."</p><p>"Yeah, that happens at least once a week, but chicks also dig <i>him</i> for sure.", Micky pointed at Mike with his thumb.</p><p>The man in question ducked a bit while the sisters swooned even more.  Per their conversation the night before last, and per what had transpired since, he wasn't going to press the point.</p><p>"If you ever need a girl to sing your songs," supplied Coco, more addressing Mike than Micky, "I'll do it!"</p><p>"Hey, maybe you could sometime!  You never know.", replied Micky, thinking <i>Maybe Mom would let her when she's a little older.</i></p><p>Mike nodded.  "Your singing voice is real nice, Coco.", he recalled from the night before.</p><p>Micky's mother raised her eyebrows with an almost-grin although Mike had no reason to think anything special of it.  "With all the talent you boys have, you will be famous in no time.  I have no doubt."</p><p>"That's the plan!"  Micky was convinced and looked over to Mike who nodded in agreement.  "This next year will be our year."  <i>We aren't worried about rent most of the time anymore, we've really gotten into a musical groove with one another, we're writing a lot of our own songs now, and Mike and I are closer than ever.  Everything is on the upswing.</i></p><p>Mike returned his smile.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>Their visitor had been staring out the window for the last few minutes, his own island of relative calm in a sea of Dolenz household clamor.  Clouds had started to gather in the darkened afternoon sky, and the second bout of rain which had been forecasted couldn't be too far away.  The weather not escaping his notice, he had gone back to their temporary room to gather their things into their bags and come back out to the family room with them.  After waiting for a lull in the minor chaos and making eye contact with Micky at the other end of the room to have a brief, silent conversation about leaving, he voiced his thoughts.  "I 'ppreciate your hospitality, M— Janelle, but we oughta split before it gets too late."</p><p>"Awww.", Debbie complained before an echoing "Awww." emanated from behind her where she was immediately thereafter tickled into giggles by her big brother.</p><p>"Bye, Mike!", Gina hugged the tall Texan's leg.</p><p>He placed a kind hand on her head as his way of hugging back.  "Bye, Gina."</p><p>A softer goodbye was murmured by Coco who simultaneously blushed a little toward the target of her words.</p><p>"Bye, Coco.", he replied to her kindly with a tip of his head.</p><p>"Maybe I can come to one of your concerts sometime and take pictures?"</p><p>"Sure; don't see why not.", replied Mike with a friendly smile.  He then addressed her along with the rest of them.  "It was nice seein' you all again.  Thank you for havin' me over."</p><p>Micky's mother wasn't eager to see her son leave, but she knew teenaged boys, and moreover she knew Micky was always on the go.  "I'm glad the both of you could make it.  You're welcome back here any time, Mike.  I mean it."</p><p>The shy man smiled politely, touched by the extension of hospitality.  "Well, thank you."</p><p>She then went to the kitchen and trotted out of the refrigerator and onto the counter the prior array of tupperware containers now filled with leftovers.  Micky had warned him she always made too much, and he was right — to excess.  Micky gave her a big hug before stepping away with the goods and letting her pull Mike into a hug herself.  Glancing back over his shoulder, he tried once again not to laugh at how out of his element Mike seemed at first but how he had seemed to soften right away.  He'd always had the feeling that Mike had never gotten much attention or affection growing up, and Micky was glad to be able to share his family with him believing he didn't really <i>truly</i> mind a little good quality attention like that on occasion.  <i>He needs to know more people care about him.</i>  He was in fact hoping Mike would get more used to it the longer he was around.</p><p>"Call me when you get home so I know you got there safely!", she called after them as they left.</p><p>"I promise!", Micky yelled back from outside, having every intention of doing so.  And he would call her — if he remembered to, of course.  Luckily he could rely on Mike, ever the responsible one, to remind him.  Climbing back into the car, he was bouncy, jumpy, hyper — in other words, the usual.  But to the nth degree today due to being with his family and not being worn out by his sisters before leaving.</p><p>To say he was in an excellent mood on the drive back would have been an understatement, and it brought a warm and meaningful smile to Mike's face.  He'd known Micky for almost two years now, and while he might have eventually expected to be annoyed by the younger man's energy and antics after awhile, that hadn't turned out to be the case; he continued to find them nothing but endearing, even invigorating to boot.</p><p>"This was a good Christmas.", Micky announced with delighted purpose.  With his dad having passed away well over a year ago, his last Christmas at home had been a subdued and solemn affair.  This time around, it had felt like more of a recovery.  There were no tears among them, just loving remembrance and a sense of family and celebration of what they had, and on the day, that included Mike.</p><p>And Mike was glad if he were to have played any part, even small in being a distraction, to make the occasion more positive for them all and especially for his... <i>What is he?  He'll have to stay my best friend.  I can't think of him as anything more.  This isn't gonna last.  It can't.  It shouldn't'a even gone on for as long as it has.</i>  Shaking his head slightly to clear it, he decided to cheer up and let Micky have his moment.</p><p>It was then that Micky spoke up again with encouraging words.  "It was really good to have you there."</p><p>He was still touched that he got invited in the first place.  "I'm really glad I got to go.  Really.  Thanks again, Mick.  Your family is great."</p><p>He was thrilled Mike had been able to spend Christmas with his family even if that hadn't been his original plan for the holiday.  Mike didn't have to be all alone, and they had all loved having him there, Micky most of all.  "Mom really was glad you came.  But I think it's pretty clear now that Coco has more of a thing for you than she does!", he taunted him.</p><p>Mike smiled, a bit flustered still from all the attention.  "They were both nice.  Sure, and good-lookin'.", he teased right back.</p><p>Micky's laugh had morphed into a snicker.  "Did you see those kiddie romance novels Coco had on her little bookshelf?"</p><p>"Naw, I didn' look around."  The magazines on her bed were fair game, but he didn't feel right, having taken over her room in the first place, to poke around further into her personal effects.</p><p>Micky grinned like the cheshire cat.  "I took the one she had laying out — it looks like she's reading it right now — and I started underlining words at random to make cryptic sentences.  Well, not <i>all</i> random because I made sure to highlight the more provocative ones I saw too.  I've done it to one of her books before.  She's gonna be so riled up again trying to figure out what it all means."</p><p>"You're a mess, Micky.", he chuckled, shaking his head with a smile.</p><p>"Your favorite mess!  Ohhh."  An idea had re-occurred to him that had first occurred to him when they'd woken up that morning.  "I know just what to get you for your birthday."</p><p>Mike paused at hearing that.  "I don't need anything."</p><p>"'Course you do.  It's gonna be your birthday!  And it'll definitely surprise you.", he stated as they rolled up into the pad's driveway, illuminated by a single light on the front of the house.</p><p>Mike gave him a look which Micky returned with a suspicious grin which was followed by a roll of the eyes from Mike before Micky jumped out of the car, ducking from the raindrops on the way to opening the garage door.  Mike pulled in and got out of the car, and Micky closed it back down.  A thought hit Mike as he started gathering their things:  "I'll get the food.  You call your mother."</p><p>"Oh, right.  Thanks, babe!"  Before Mike could turn to go in, Micky jumped him from behind, arms looping around his waist, and gave him a quick squeeze before running off to the phone.  It was like he couldn't help himself, knowing now what it was like to be with Mike and for the past two days having him at arm's length but not being able to really touch him save for the one real kiss.</p><p>Mike froze, face flushing instantly.  He had been working on getting in a mental place where he wouldn't make physical contact with Micky any more.  Subconsciously, Mike worried he would lead him on or, worse, fall into an emotional hole he couldn't get out of.  <i>But then again, Micky'd managed to keep it together for two days in front of his own folks, so maybe it ain't such a far-fetched idea...</i>  He sat on that possibility for only a quarter of a millisecond before coming to grips with the fact that any positive outcome would be a non-starter for any time period longer than a couple of days.  <i>No.  NO.  We need to stop this before it gets too complicated.</i>, he told himself yet again.</p><p>It's what he had started telling himself every morning when they were getting ready for the day.  But Mike didn't want to go and make an entire day with Micky awkward, so he waited.<br/>It's what he had started telling himself every afternoon when there was a pause, a moment unfilled, during what should have been on his end of things an easy silence between them.  But then some other topic or event would come up, and the timing and vibe just seemed off, so Mike waited.<br/>It's what he had started telling himself every evening before they said their goodnights and fell asleep in each other's arms.  But Mike couldn't help it.</p><p>He <i>did</i> have every intention of following through to end it.  He did.  It was just...</p><p>The food was stowed away in the ice box, their belongings were set down inside, and the phone was returned to the hook.  Before he knew what was happening, Mike heard "Almost two whole days!", and then Micky's smiling lips were on his.  And the sounds Micky made while pressed up against him made the slightly older man melt.  Instantly, any fight he had in him disappeared, and his eyes closed.  <i>Just one last night...</i> was his final coherent thought before his mind blissfully went blank and they somehow ended up upstairs together in bed once again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's been a crummy couple of weeks in real life, so I'd just like to say that every comment I got on the previous chapter lifted my spirits.  (But did anyone like poor, lonely chapter 3?? :) )  Also, 70mtt and Lauren_StDavid are fab idea people.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C6 - MONDAY, MORNING</p><p>An on-the-surface replica of their first morning together, Mike awoke when the sky was just bright enough to illuminate their bedroom.  The difference this morning was that he knew right away in what bed he was and with whom he was.  And this time, Micky was facing him, asleep, looking downright angelic.  Mike's eyes sluggishly traced the barest peaks and shadows on the familiar face so distinct and dissimilar from his own, the face that never failed to alight his heart, the face he would never tire of looking at because of who it belonged to.</p><p><i>I need to tell him.</i>  He frowned.  <i>I shouldn't'a 'llowed myself to fall back in bed with him last night.</i>  He closed his eyes in shame, wishing for anything he could only enjoy rather than think.  His mind's eye drifted over the form next to him, desperately wanting to hold on to the feeling of being with him, stretching the moment out, but knowing it was wrong to want it, dangerous to want it.  <i>But I don't regret it.</i></p><p>He listened to Micky's soft, warm breathing that touched his face from those few inches away, and he let his mind wander.  It took him a good ten minutes to decide he would wait just a little while longer on telling him; he couldn't wake Micky up now, especially with him looking so peaceful.  He didn't want to spoil that.  He didn't want to spoil Micky at all.</p><p>And then he considered that it wouldn't be a great idea to be in bed with him when he woke up.  Chances were good that Mike would once again end up thinking with some combination of his heart and dick rather than his brain, and that was what he unquestionably needed to avoid in order to amend their situation.  Micky luckily wouldn't think a thing of him not being there given that it was a rare event Mike would still be in their room at all when Micky would finally come to.  <i>Heck, if it ain't a work day, everyone in the neighborhood is awake by the time Micky gets up.  Yesterday morning's early rise was probably a fluke.</i>, he thought, due to Micky's continued excitement and the circumstance of sleeping in a different place.</p><p>Giving himself only a few more seconds, Mike made the decision to go.  He carefully moved the cover and sheet back into place from where he had been lying so that Micky wouldn't get chilled, and he closed the door behind him and pattered down the stairs to the bathroom down there.  Pushing somber thoughts to the backburner again, he decided to spend time messing around piecing together a new song based on a series of notes he'd thought of the day before.</p><p>In-between gigs and leaving enough time for practicing, Mike and Micky had both been working part-time jobs for awhile and had put in quite few hours for a couple months before Christmas rolled around.  Micky felt obligated to pitch in more with a part-time job.  This was not only to help hold the band's fort down but to send money back home to his mom for her and his sisters.  With only residuals and an occasional side income now when Janelle wasn't overloaded with the kids, they were understandably not as well-off as they had been before his dad passed away.</p><p>When it came to the other two, Peter had taken on most of the chores and cooking duties to compensate whereas Davy was busy finishing up his schooling which included after-school play rehearsals and rehearsals for summer shows to keep his green card valid, so it didn't leave him much extra time during the day.  They were trying their best to function as a self-sufficient unit and band while having a little travel money to spare.  Mike particularly didn't want to fall behind again financially like they had earlier in the year and part of the year prior.</p><p>Nights were typically free for most of them to allow for practicing and auditions and gigs — or just lounging around the house when they felt like it, or in Davy's case, chasing tail and occasionally doing homework, the older three guys helping him out with the latter endeavor when requested.  And that Davy even chased tail shy of his age of majority had been a small concern of Mike's because, with Davy's producer friend who was also his green card sponsor accountable for him during daylight hours, Mike had felt it was his responsibility to otherwise keep the kid's future in America secure until such time.  Peter and Micky at least had their parents to vouch for them until they hit twenty-one.</p><p>After Mike spent a good while meandering around a tune, the phone rang.  He managed to get across the large room to the end table to answer it on the second ring.  "Hello?"</p><p>On the other end of the line was Joe Wilson, the owner of the music/record store where Micky worked.  He wanted to know if his energetic employee could come in to work for the next couple of days which was earlier than he'd expected to be back, later in the week.  Mr. Wilson's wife and kid had come down with the flu on Christmas, and their other part-time employee was out of town with his family.  Mike jotted down Mr. Wilson's home number just in case Micky didn't have it on hand and said that if he <i>didn't</i> hear from Micky, he could expect him to be there, normal hours.  Placing the handset back on the phone base, he thought maybe he should also get some hours in at the grocery store if they needed him since he wouldn't have anything of substance to do alone in the pad.  So he rang up his boss who told him he would be a big help and to come on in.</p><p>"Mick?!", he called upstairs, hoping he was loud enough to get Micky's attention if he were awake but not so loud as to necessarily wake him up.  Often noise wouldn't bother Micky since he could undoubtedly sleep through a nuclear explosion, but they had gone to sleep early enough, and it was late enough now that the ring of the phone could have done the trick.</p><p>"Mike!", the Micky bubbled back in response.  He was in fact awake.</p><p>With an unconscious smile forming due to Micky's sparkling personality being directed his way, Mike proceeded to relate that it was Mr. Wilson who had rang and the why-for of it.</p><p>"Oh yeah, I can do that.", he called back down.</p><p>"Okay.  I told him you'd ring 'im if you couldn't make it; otherwise you'd just show up."</p><p>"Sure.  You up for taking me, or you wanna hang out here or whatever?  I can walk."  He was hoping Mike would offer so they could spend a little more time together.</p><p>"Naw, I'll take ya.  I called in ta work too.  They can use an extra hand."  <i>Maybe the song'll keep rattlin' around my head while I'm stocking shelves.</i></p><p>"Oh, right on.  Groovy, groovy."  Just then, Micky thought back to yesterday when they were driving across town and recalled the slightest hint of squeak he had heard.  That car was Mike's baby, he knew well.  The guitarist had driven to the west coast in an old jalopy which he'd soon traded in for it.  With that, plus the extra money he'd set aside for a place by himself that he hadn't needed since they had all gotten this house together so quickly, he bought the shiny, brand new GTO.  It and his acoustic guitar, and possibly the old six-string electric, were his prized as well as only substantial possessions, but Micky would concede to being pretty attached to the car himself.  And admittedly it did a little for his own ego that he was the only other person Mike had ever allowed to drive it.  "How long've we got?"</p><p>"Less'n an hour an' a half."</p><p>"That'll be fab."  He grabbed Mike's car keys off the dresser and shoved them into his jacket pocket hanging nearby before moving toward the door and explaining.  "The brakes started sounding the teeensiest bit off yesterday.", he gestured over the balcony where Mike could see.  "I'll go work on 'em, grab a shower, and we can go."  He turned and went back into their room.</p><p>Mike, distracted for a split second by Micky's naked upper half, was confused; the Pontiac wasn't that much over a year old, and he wouldn't say they had driven it a crazy amount.  "The brakes're already goin' out?", he called up to him.</p><p>Partly muffled by throwing a shirt on, Micky explained, half-yelling so he could be heard downstairs.  "You remember we had some crazy times out on the road this year.  And fast brake fading's a thing with these kinds of cars.  But — and I know, stick with me on this — I <i>planned ahead</i> and bought a set already."  Micky loved to build things and to tinker, and if nothing else, he would be glad to poke around some under the GTO.  He'd gotten to work on his dad's car and friends' cars growing up, which he enjoyed quite a bit, just not quite as much as he enjoyed music, so he knew his way around them well enough to perform standard repairs.</p><p>Hands on hips, Mike looked up.  "Lemme get this straight:  You bought brakes for my car?"</p><p>"Yeah.  I knew it'd need some sooner rather than later.", he replied, shrugging his jacket on before sliding down the spiral stair railing with practiced ease.  "Don't want to wait until we need brakes to go get brakes in the car that needs brakes, right?  All show and no go?", he said as he landed on his feet.</p><p>Mike was befuddled.  "W'll, when'dja do that, then?"</p><p>"Last month.", he shrugged, ambling around the staircase over to him.</p><p>"That's... that's awf'ly kind of you, Mick.  Gettin' new brakes <i>and</i> changin' 'em out?"  A modest, dumb grin plastered itself on his face.</p><p>"Don't mention it, babe."  A smiling, squinty-eyed Micky leaned forward and pecked him on the lips, then without another thought bounced over to the sink to half fill and swig a glass of water.</p><p><i>Oh.  That's nice.</i>  Mike hadn't expected the effortless kiss.  He didn't know why he hadn't, but he hadn't, and his heart bounced.  <i>Real nice.</i>  And then his brain caught back up to him.  <i>It's sweet a' him to be doin' this.</i>  "You shoulda mentioned it t' me sooner.  I'll go an' get you the money for 'em.", he started to head up the stairs whence Micky came in order to retrieve said money.</p><p>"Don't be square."</p><p>"They ain't cheap.", he shot back, already to the first stair.  At twenty-five dollars, almost three full eight-hour days' worth of work, they were not cheap indeed.  It was more than anyone had ever given Mike before, and truly, it was too much for him; he felt he should be paying for that expense out of his own pocket.  Mike didn't know how to feel about Micky's presumption to pay out of <i>his</i>.</p><p>"Mike.", he rolled his eyes.  "Don't worry about it.  I've been working at the store a lot, so I could spare it.  This'll be fun for me."  He rubbed his hands together in a display of preparatory excitement as he headed to the door that went out to the garage.</p><p>That Micky would do all that made him a little uncomfortable, although he couldn't quite place his finger on <i>why</i> beyond nobody having done anything that significant for him before.  But he decided it was easier to just go with it rather than think too hard about the reasoning.  "Thanks, Mick.", Mike spoke while he was still within earshot.  "I'll go shower and make us some breakfast."  <i>It's the least I can do.</i>, he thought.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>Later, on the way to dropping Micky off at the music store, he had to admit the ride did sound cleaner.  Micky had been right about the brakes.  <i>At least these should last just as long,</i> he thought to himself, <i>assuming we don't get into too many crazy situations this next year.  I'll have to remember to budget for 'em next time 'round.</i>  "Thank you, Micky.", he told him sincerely.</p><p>It was a fact known to Micky that Mike smiled a lot more, and more easily, these days than he had when they'd all first met, and every last one of those smiles made Micky's heart happy.  This one was no exception.  He smiled right back, glad that Mike was glad.  That was all he needed to get by, he thought, was to see his flame content if not outright upbeat.  He wanted to hold his hand and connect more with the feeling, but they were out in public, and he knew better than to risk it for either of their sakes.</p><p>At the same time, Mike was entertaining a distinctly different thought.  <i>It needs to be today.</i>, he reminded himself.  With the holiday season speeding along and work life getting somewhat back to normal, he felt the tug of distress.  <i>There'll be enough time for us to straighten things out between us when I pick him up this afternoon.</i>, Mike told himself.</p><p>Mike rolled the car up to Wilson's Music, bright posters embellishing the windows above and around where a few instruments were displayed.  Micky jumped out and give him a sunny look accompanied by a "See you later, babe."</p><p>"See you later.", he responded, his smile this time a bit forced.  When Micky turned and bounded off into the shop, Mike sat there with a small frown as his heart dropped a ways in his chest.  <i>Oh, that's what it is.</i>, his memory jogged.  That was why he had been uncomfortable with the Californian's generosity earlier:  By bringing up the topic of cooling things off completely, Mike felt like he was taking away.  It was the opposite of Micky's giving.  That feeling he was suddenly dealing with was, undeniably, guilt.  His head lolled back in frustration at himself.  He didn't want to string Micky along.  He swore he wasn't trying to.  <i>But Micky isn't stupid; I'm sure he'll understand completely, an' anyway, I'll tell him as gentle as possible.</i>  Although, after a few days of their little vacation of sorts, it was still likely to come off kind of rough.  So Mike would do his best to try and think of something, a less problematic way than to be with him, that would still make Micky feel ...appreciated like he should be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I fixed a few little places in chapter 6 due to just now seeing a couple of Lauren_StDavid's notes plus remembering one other thing.</p><p>And I've fiddled with chapter 7 enough that I need to let go of it and post it.  Comments, thoughts, and suggestions are very welcome, as always!  Thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C7 - MONDAY, LATER</p><p>"Good morning, Mike."  His boss, a couple of inches shorter than him and always jovial, waved the young man over as soon as he stepped foot in the grocery store.</p><p>"Good morning, Mr. Garcia."</p><p>"And how was your Christmas?", he asked, handing him a store apron he'd had at the ready knowing how prompt Mike always was.</p><p>A genuine smile appeared on Mike's face as he thought back to Micky inviting him over to celebrate with his family and the groovy time they had all had.  "It was really somethin'.", he replied, avoiding sharing details.  "Yourself?"</p><p>"Oh yes, it was good as always.  Even if it was at the in-laws' this year.", he chuckled.  "So, I'm glad you said you could come in.  Can you stay later than usual?"</p><p>He didn't think that should be a major problem.  "Yes I can.", he replied while tying the apron strings behind him.</p><p>"Great.  We need all the Christmas decorations taken down and New Year's decorations put up, then a new display of cans over there in front of aisle 12 and some things tidied up in back.  And of course the normal stocking and cleanup.  But there's also year-end inventory if you have some time to help us with that later?"</p><p>He nodded earnestly.</p><p>"Would you have time to come in tomorrow?"</p><p>It occurred to Mike just then that he probably should get the pad cleaned up some before Peter returned from his trip the next night, but he quickly decided he could get on that when he got home that evening.  <i>An' Micky's workin' anyway tomorrow too, so I may as well.</i>  "I'm free."</p><p>"Then I'd like you all day again if you can.  Finish up year-end and stock-taking for the sale starting on the 30th — but I remember that's your birthday, so I won't make you come in then or 'til next Monday.  In fact, if you get it all done today and tomorrow, I'll make it worth your while; you can go home tonight with a sack full of anything at all you want from here — lobster, chicken, wine, you name it."</p><p>"Oh, well that would be real nice!  Thank you, sir.  I'll get it all done."</p><p>"Good kid.", Mr. Garcia said along with a clap to his shoulder and left him to it.</p><p><i>I know we have leftovers to eat, but they can wait a day while I make him a real nice dinner tonight.</i>, he thought on his way over toward some decorations.  And he knew that lobster, as tempting as it sounded, was out of the question since he had no idea how to cook it and didn't want to ruin perfectly good food.  Not a second later, he was pulled from thoughts of food by a pale-looking woman coming up to him asking if he could reach a jar for her on a nearby high shelf.</p><p>"Not a problem, ma'am."</p><p>She coughed when she asked him and coughed a little again as he handed the item to her.  It irked him some that she did so and without even a thanks before going on her way, coughing yet again.  There were days when he wondered if there was just some cultural divide he sometimes didn't get.  <i>Why couldn't she'a' turned her head or used her sleeve if nothin' else?</i>, he wondered, shaking his head before continuing on, setting to work taking down the tinsel and small trees while trying to think back on the song he'd been working on earlier that morning.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>He had been sitting down for a couple of minutes in the employee break room in order to stretch his arms, back, and legs when the phone rang, so he answered.  "Malibu Safeway.  How may I help you?"</p><p>"Hi—Mike?", Micky's tone went from calm and polite to excited and bright in a quarter of a second flat.</p><p><i>That voice.</i>  It immediately soothed him, even down to his slightly aching feet.  He hadn't been standing up for long periods for the last week, and he'd forgotten he'd need to get used to it again.  "Hey, Mick.", he replied, upbeat, leaning back in the chair and straightening his tie before shoving the handset into the crook of his neck.  It allowed him to spare holding up an already-tired arm unnecessarily, and he folded both arms across his front to rest them.</p><p>"Hey, just the man I wanted to talk to!"</p><p>Mike could hear his wide smile over the line.  <i>But when's he not smiling.</i>, he thought with gladness.</p><p>"So Brian's friend Steve was just here in the store, and he said we were all invited to his house today at six-thirty for Brian's surprise birthday party."</p><p>"Oh.  W'll, 'fraid I can't go.  I promised Mr. Garcia I'd stay late and help with some year-end work."</p><p>"Aw.  We can show up fashionably late?"</p><p>"No, you go on ahead.  Whenever it is I'll get out of here, I'll be beat."  Besides, cleaning up the pad was one thing to Mike, merely busy-work not that different from what he was doing at his actual job, but having to put in the emotionally expensive effort of trying to socialize with a bunch of noisy revelers he didn't know all that well for a couple of hours was another thing entirely.  That was Micky's habitat, and he'd rather leave Micky to it to have his fun.  Moreover, he didn't want to chance finding out how Micky might act towards him in plain view of other people if booze were flowing, and he could almost guarantee that booze would be flowing at the party.  <i>I c'n hardly trust </i>myself<i> sober around him.  What hope would he have tipsy?  And anyway, if I'm not around, maybe he'll pick up a girl there.  Then everything'd work itself out nice and neat.</i></p><p>Even though he'd much rather Mike go with him, Micky knew parties really weren't Mike's scene.  But he always invited him anyway in the hopes he'd let loose and have even half as good a time as Micky normally had.  It didn't usually work out that way, but when it did, Mike was happy enough, and Micky was tickled.</p><p>"An' I told him I'd come in tomorrow too.  But I'll make ya dinner later tonight if you don't eat much at the party, alright?"</p><p>"Well, shoot.  Okay.", Micky voiced his disappointment, though he was appreciative that Mike would take care of dinner for him if he wanted.</p><p>Mike knew the disappointment he heard wasn't due to his offer to cook.  "Oh, cain't you git a ride there?"</p><p>"No, I'll walk.  It's only a mile or two."  He quirked a half smile.  "I'll just miss you."  <i>Hey, just the two of us walking around would be nice.</i>, he thought on the concept.  <i>Maybe we could do that sometime, just walk around.  Oh, that reminds me, I need to run down the street and buy his birthday present before I forget again.</i></p><p>Unthinkingly and automatically, he almost told Micky he'd miss him too; it was on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself at the last moment.  "I'll—"  <i>Micky's just bein' Micky.  I don' want ta encourage 'im thinkin'...</i>  "hope you have a good time.", he covered.  "Tell Brian I said happy birthday."</p><p>"Will do.  See you later tonight!"</p><p>"Bye, Micky."  He sat the handset back down on its base on the break room counter, offloading a sigh in the process.  He wished distancing himself from his best friend didn't feel like such a weight around his neck.  <i>At least we'll be apart for some of the evening.</i>  He stood up, shaking himself out of it, and left the room to go back out to finish stocking shelves.  <i>We'll work it out when he gets home.</i></p><p>-—-—-</p><p>Mike had picked out a few things for his sack of goodies that he knew Micky would like, Mr. Garcia generously piling on to it with smoked salmon and a bottle of champagne, and he drove home in the dark.  He shoved the items needing to be refrigerated around what they already had in there and barely got the ice box to close.  Though he'd been on his feet all day, he supposed then was as good a time as any to take down the decorations in the pad since he'd been on a roll at the store doing the same thing there.  He removed, folded up, and put into boxes all of the bits and baubles as well as the tree and its ornaments.  It was with a rueful smile he took down all the mistletoe, but instead of putting the one from the kitchen away and hauling it down to the basement with the other boxes, he took it up to their bedroom and put it in the back of his own sock drawer.  He wasn't prepared to part with it for an entire year just yet.  For at least a while, it would be a pleasant reminder to him of their time together.</p><p>At nine-thirty, Mike decided it was well past dinnertime, so he got to work on that with the assumption that Micky would walk through the door at any minute.  He had actually expected to get a call from Micky at the party to see if Mike would come and pick him up, but no call came.</p><p>The total, abnormal silence in the pad was almost deafening to him.  He would have welcomed such a thing a few short years ago, possibly even a few short months ago.  This lack of any external animation reminded him of how much he missed his friends, his new family, when they weren't around.  For the third time that night, he thought <i>I miss Micky.</i>; that's what it mostly was.  Being able to hear himself eat was different as well since there was no one to even share his own noise with or make noise over the top of him.  His stomach dropped a little with the thought that this was what his life would probably be like after The Monkees made it big and they all went off their separate ways to live their lives outside of rehearsing and performing.  <i>Maybe I'll stay here for awhile.  We made some good memories here.</i>, he reminisced.</p><p>After putting the new leftovers for Micky into the ice box, he turned on the television, but the station that was on signed off for the night shortly thereafter, so he simply turned it back off.  He knew he should just go on to bed, but with Micky still gone, he wanted to wait up for him if he could.  So, he picked up his six-string and plucked out a series of notes.  <i>'Micky, Micky, where've ya gone to?/ Micky, Micky, wish I had gone too.'</i>, he sung along, making up the words as he went, thinking the basic idea might well be catchy enough for the band to turn into a real song.  <i>'Micky, Micky, when'll ya be home?/ Micky, Micky, hope it won't be long.'</i>  After awhile, he put the guitar down for the night.  On the one hand, he was getting tired and didn't want to fall asleep sitting up and drop his guitar or fall asleep in a contorted position on the sofa downstairs.  On the other hand, Micky's absence was actually starting to make him antsy.  But he told himself that Micky was a big boy and that he was off having a good time and didn't need Mike of all people bothering about him.</p><p>It was almost midnight when Mike finally decided to turn in, leaving the lamp on downstairs.  He went up and started stripping both their beds, hesitating with a held breath when he saw on their dirty sheets the evidence of what they had done together.  <i>Stop it.</i>, he warned himself, shaking off the thoughts and averting his gaze from the stains, wadding the sheets up and putting them in the corner next to the laundry bags.  He replaced them with their extra set of clean sheets from the closet, then went into the half bath to wash his face and brush his teeth before changing into his pajamas and climbing into his own bed for the night.  Flat on his back, the whole of the narrow but long twin mattress to himself, it seemed almost too spacious.  Too empty.  He moved his hands out to his sides, palms warming the coolness of the bedsheet beneath them.</p><p>His attention shifted when he heard a car door slam, and not that long after, having left the upstairs bedroom door open, he could just pick up the sound of the front door closing.  <i>Oh good; he's home.</i>, he thought with relief as he waited for Micky to come up.  <i>I know I woulda stayed up all night worryin' if he hadn't come back tonight.  But it's late now; we can talk about things tomorrow.  Should I pretend I'm asleep?  Then it won't have to be too awkward.  That's why I got in my own bed, after all.  With any luck, maybe he'll go right on over to his.  I don't think I—</i></p><p>And then a fluffy-haired silhouette appeared at the bedroom door halting his internal monologue in its tracks.  "Mike!", Micky sighed his name with intense happiness through his wasted state.</p><p>"Mick.", he replied automatically and half-questioningly with a smile.  While he couldn't see the way Micky was looking at him because his face was shadowed, Mike could sure feel it.  And what he wouldn't give to bottle that feeling up and keep it with him forever.</p><p>The drummer stepped into the room and reached inside on the left for the doorknob, missing it once, then twice, before finally grabbing a hold of it and shutting it behind him.  In the darkness, he took off his jacket but didn't quite get it onto the coathanger, so a whooshing sound was heard as it fell and crumpled to the floor.  Micky ignored that and proceeded to angle over to his roommate's bed specifically because it was where his roommate happened to be located.  It wasn't clear if he would have been able to make it over to his own bed on a first attempt anyway.  The idle thought flitted through Micky's head that he was proud of himself for making it in the house, up the stairs, and over this far before that thought was again replaced by the concept of Mike.</p><p>Listing over the side of said man's bed, Micky somehow had enough presence of mind to toe off his shoes and find and pull the covers back before plopping down in a curled-up ball next to him.  He drew up his knees, his left one draped over Mike's thigh to where it stopped just shy of his sensitive region, and wrapped his arms and hands around Mike's left arm which was left uncomfortably bent and twisted, unnoticed by Micky.  "Missed you.", Micky sighed, squeezing said arm before his whole body relaxed.  But he was on the 'wrong' side of the bed, and, more importantly, his rear end was hanging off of it for lack of room, his choice of position leaving him precariously threatening to roll off and onto the floor.</p><p>The bed's previously sole occupant, who had stayed still throughout these developments to see what Micky would do, couldn't help but grin at his carefree antics.  As the faint smell of cigarettes and pot wafted from Micky's hair and clothing to Mike's nose, he wondered just what his favorite person had been up to for so many hours.  <i>Having fun, like he should be doin'.</i>  After a handful of seconds, he decided what Micky had been doing didn't matter to him at all and that there was a more interesting and perhaps pressing question to be asked:  "Micky?  That where you wanna stay tonight?"  It wasn't that Mike particularly cared — he didn't, at least as far as him being currently unable to do anything about Micky being in his bed was concerned — but he was more amused at just how out of it his boy was, having wandered in and been perfectly willing to go to sleep in that particular location and position.</p><p>"Oh.", came the fourth word that evening out of Micky's usually far more chattery mouth.  Just as Mike was about to pull his left arm free and shift to make more room on his left side, Micky proceeded to roll-climb over him before halting his movements mid-way, lying front down directly on the lanky man, legs splayed to the sides of his, face burying into the curve of his neck and shoulder, loops of hair ticking his cheek.  "Mmm.  Yep.  Comfy.  Gonna live here.", Micky murmured, settled in and already starting to fall back asleep.</p><p>Mike exhaled with a soft chuckle and brought his hands up around Micky's sides as if he were about to help him continue his journey across the bed, but they simply paused and lightly held him there.  Other scents had by then made themselves apparent, signaling that Micky had partaken in beer as well as hard liquor, but what liquor, exactly, Mike couldn't say.  The fusion of smells was foreign to the Texan's palate, but the fact that Micky's scent was a large part of the mix settled him.  Breathing in, he mentally caught and followed the tendrils of that essence back to its owner, its now unconscious, entirely trusting owner who had moulded into him.  And Mike had gone and wrapped himself right around him in return.  "It ain't too bad, but I don't reckon this'll work for us all night.", Mike told him in a near whisper.</p><p>But as he had expected, he was met with silence; the freewheeling Californian was out cold.</p><p><i>Sure is heavy when he's out.  Makes for a nice, cozy blanket, though.</i>  Mike wanted nothing more than to enjoy the feel of just being with him, and he unconsciously moved one hand up to pet his hair.  He wondered how much, or perhaps how little, Micky would have had to drink to make him feel indeed comfortable enough to conk out in this position.  <i>Thank goodness someone drove him home.</i>, Mike thought with gratitude as he slowly rubbed his other hand up and down his once-lover's back.  Micky's shirt had ridden up some with moving around on the bed, so he pulled it down and smoothed it out.  He wondered if Micky would have called him for a ride if he hadn't gotten one there.  Mike was imagining him staggering home drunk from wherever he had been back to the pad and still being in one piece.  <i>Maybe I shouldn' worry so much.  He's fine on his own.</i></p><p>Mike sighed deeply.  The ache in his chest was ever-increasing.  But if this was the last time he would get to touch him, he didn't want to let go too quickly.  So he held him close for as long as he could stand before he started thinking about it too much and becoming somber — and before he started to feel a little too physically compressed.  "Mick, I'm gonna move ya.", he whispered into his ear knowing his warning to be pointless.  Arms and hands around Micky, carefully so as to disturb him as little as possible, Mike rolled him over onto the usual side.</p><p>Micky's head flopped down at an awkward angle between his neck and the bed.  "<i>Nnhh.</i>" was the entirety of his voiced complaint.</p><p><i>Oops, I forgot his head.</i>  Extricating his arms and legs, Mike curled a hand around Micky's head and lifted it just enough to scooch the end of his pillow underneath it.  He then scooted further to his own side to give Micky some room and turned his back to help give himself some mental space.</p><p>"Mmmf.", came a new syllable from behind him as Micky reflexively cuddled up to him, weaving his right arm up and around Mike's waist before relaxing right back into unconsciousness.</p><p>Mike about drowned in the innocent sweetness of it and couldn't bring himself to remove Micky's generous, warm, heavy arm.  Despite the physical comfort it provided him and the depth to which he'd prefer to get lost in the sensation, it wasn't entirely comfortable given that his rational brain was at odds with the arrangement.  <i>I'm gonna miss this with him.</i>  He shut his eyes and started to drift off to asleep.  <i>Tomorrow.</i> was the last thought on his mind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C8 - TUESDAY</p><p>This side of dawn, Mike woke in the same position in which he had fallen asleep.  As soon as he was cognizant of where he was and who was with him, he again closed his eyes to let the soft sounds of deep, even breathing from Micky wash over him.  The arm snugly draped over Mike's waist was warm and solid, and the rest of Micky was still curled up behind him; he hadn't moved more than an inch or two either.</p><p>After a minute or so, Mike felt, or possibly imagined, a light itch on his left thumb, so he moved his right hand up slightly to scratch it.  In the process, he had shifted his weight just enough to be made aware of an erection that was pressed up against his lower back.  He stilled himself and sighed.  If he hadn't alresdy had an erection of his own, just feeling Micky's might have caused it to appear.  More than anything, he wanted to wake Micky up and have an outstanding time doing something about their mutual issue, but he didn't dare.  He didn't even allow himself to do more than blink at that rabbit hole of a fantasy.  <i>That's in the past now.</i>  And so he kept his eyes shut for awhile longer to mentally gather himself.</p><p>With slowness and stealth, he slid out from under Micky's arm and got out of bed as quietly as he could, arranging the covers neatly behind him to keep his bedmate cozy.  Feet pulsing a bit from work the day before, he went over and pulled out a piece of paper from their bookshelf along with a pencil and, on an empty space on their chest of drawers, started writing across the paper in an elegant script.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Had to go to work early.</p>
</blockquote>Being that his job was farther down the road and he had slept longer than he'd intended to by some minutes, though fewer hours overall than he would have liked given the day ahead of him, he decided it would make more sense for him to take the Pontiac rather than Micky.<blockquote>
  <p>Sorry I took the car.</p>
</blockquote>From the back, normally blacked-out recesses of his mind, his father's voice poked its ugly head out and caused him to pause his movements.  <i>What're ya writin' all neat 'n' priddy for?  You write like a girl.  Quit bein' so queer.</i>  But he pushed through the antagonizing thought and finished in the same quality penmanship.<blockquote>
  <p>May be late picking you up.  Made you dinner last night — but you might like it for breakfast.  Can we talk later?</p>
</blockquote>He managed to get that last bit out, finally, even if it was only in writing so far.  Now he just had to form the words on his lips this afternoon when the time came.  It <i>should</i> be a piece of cake.<p>He walked back toward the bed to get the alarm clock off the night stand and move it over to where he had left the note — far enough away from the bed that, when it went off, Micky would really have to wake up to turn it off.  Mike set it to give him enough time to be able to shower and eat and walk to work.  It honestly wasn't that much more time, just an hour or so, but Micky might need it to be functional for work.  Looking over at his sleeping form, Mike let his eyes linger.  How he wanted to lean over and kiss his brow and tell him goodbye.  <i>He's out, so he won't know it.  And it'd be the very last time.</i>  With the internal debate and its accompanying ache swirling inside him, he didn't budge for an exteded moment.  <i>But I won't because I shouldn't, and I need ta stop thinkin' 'bout that.  It's over now.</i>  So he did nothing but visually trace Micky's features and then walk away.  In vain, he tried not to feel too much.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>"Uggghhh."  The shrill clang of the alarm dragged Micky kicking and screaming into the land of the living.  He crawled over the bed and almost fell onto the floor as the world spun.  He tried to stand up, finally accomplishing that task and getting across the few feet to smack the alarm off.  <i>Mike must have wanted to make sure I'd get up.</i>, he thought once completely vertical.  The edges of his blurry morning vision caught sight of a piece of paper as it fluttered to the floor due to the whooshing of his arm to turn off the buzzer.  He picked it up, rubbing at an eye with the fingers of his other hand.  His dry lips pulled upwards before he even started to read the words.  <i>Mike has such artistic handwriting.  I wish my scribbles could look half that good.  He's so talented.  Aw, he made me dinner?  Oh, right, he said he would.  Gah, and I came home late and zonked out.  Great job, Micky!  So romantic of you.</i>, he chastised himself guiltily.</p><p>When he got to the end of the note, he at first assumed "Can we talk later?" meant Mike was upset with him for coming home so late and so hammered after he'd gone to the trouble of dinner for him.  <i>And he was probably worried.</i>  But Micky did remember they cuddled.  <i>Or maybe it was just me who cuddled and he was put out because he had to deal with me and then had to get up early for work?</i>  The situation wasn't quite clear to Micky in retrospect.  Then, after another second, he thought, <i>But passive aggressive isn't really his style.</i> and considered the possibility that Mike just wanted to talk about how to handle things in front of Davy and Peter since Peter would be home tonight.  That explanation made more sense to Micky.  But he would apologize to him anyway.  <i>And then I'll make it up to him.</i>, he thought with a sly grin.</p><p>With the excitement of discovering what meal awaited him, he almost slid down the railing to the kitchen.  But at the last second, he thought better of it; after last night, he was still a bit groggy, and his balance was still a bit off.  So after shuffling fown the stairs, he was pleasantly surprised to find in the ice box a solid meal of already-toasted bruschettas fully loaded with sausage, mozzarella, sundried tomatoes, olives, and artichoke.  <i>Oh, and smoked salmon and champagne!  Wow!</i>  He heated up his breakfast and ate it with delight.  When only crumbs remained, he sighed with a smile on his face.  Looking over at the clock on the wall and finding he didn't have any more time to spare, he hopped in the shower, singing at the top of his lungs, then got himself together and strolled downtown to work, whistling most of the way.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>It was nearing midday, and the latest customer had left the store with his record purchase and a smile on his face.  Micky sat down on the stool behind the counter, leaned his elbows onto the glass casing in front of him, and smacked his lips in satisfaction; he could still taste the steamed artichoke and olives on his tongue.  Apart from his mother's cooking, he contemplated that it was some of the better food he'd had in a long time.  The phone rang then, and the curly-haired associate shifted to answer it right away.  "Wilson Music, Micky speaking!"</p><p>"Hi, Micky."  The Texan had a ten-minute break, so he called over to the music store in the hopes Micky wasn't busy.</p><p>"Mike!"  He stood back up.  "Man, I missed you this morning."  <i>And I missed you yesterday while I was at work, and I missed you while I was at the party too, but that's okay; I get it.</i>  They had only just gotten together, so even though Micky had had feelings for Mike for a long time, he didn't want to overwhelm him.  And it was doubly a consideration he made given that in the time he had known Mike, he hadn't known him to actually be in an relationship for longer than one or two half-hearted dates, and so he didn't want to come on too strong.  He even went so far as to intentionally lose track of time and stay until the end of the party in order to give Mike some extra time to himself, knowing how Mike liked to have an occasional breather away from the rest of his housemates.  But still, Micky missed him, and in thinking on it, if he had it to do over again, he would have drunk a little less and come home a little earlier.  "I'm sorry I got home so late and then passed out"</p><p>At which point Mike thought, <i>That all sounds kinda suspicious out loud.  Sure, Mr. Wilson might not be there to overhear him, </i>Thank God.<i>, but I wish Micky had a hangup about talkin' about private stuff on the phone.</i></p><p>"...on you?  Did I pass out <i>on</i> you or <i>near</i> you?", Micky finished his thought while trying to remember the specifics beyond the fuzzy recollection of cuddling, wondering if he'd just imagined passing out on top of Mike rather than next to him.  All he knew for sure is that, somehow, he had woken up warm and on his side of Mike's bed and not on the floor somewhere.</p><p>Mike cringed a bit.  "Don't worry about it."</p><p>He hesitated for a split second at Mike's easy dismissal.  It didn't seem like he was upset with him for being inanely sloshed, so he relaxed, glad he hadn't annoyed him.  "Okay.  But thanks for breakfast, babe.", his tone started to shift.  "That was really something!  Fine dining.  How did you manage that, anyway??"</p><p>"Mr. Garcia gave me a bonus — a sack of whatever I could carry out of the store.  Hope what I put together tasted alright bein' reheated."</p><p>"Are you kidding?  It was fantastic, and so are you."</p><p>Mike pulled his collar with tie around it away from his throat which suddenly felt like it had tightened.  "Well, I'm glad ya liked it."</p><p>"Sure did.  A whole lot.  Hey, you okay with having the leftovers from Mom's tonight?  And I saved your salmon and champagne; we can have that for your birthday or maybe save it for the new year with the guys?  Whatever you want.  But I wasn't about to open that stuff without you there to enjoy it too."</p><p>A half smile tugged at the corner of Mike's mouth.  "That sounds good, Mick.  I'll pick you up sometime after six if that works."</p><p>"Great!  See you then."  Micky would occupy some of the time after closing to wrap the two birthday presents he had gotten Mike the day before.  If on the off chance he could find absolutely nothing else to capture his attention afterwards, he had dinner with Mike to think about and look forward to.  And maybe he would even do what he'd done on Christmas Eve and light a candle or two to set the mood, now that he knew doing such a thing wouldn't be weird.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>Being the easily distracted type to say the least, there was plenty to catch Micky's attention over the course of the rest of the afternoon.  And an hour after he had closed up the shop, he was still wound up.  So, he sat outside with the wrapped gifts and tapped away with his hands on his knees to the song in his head from one of the new releases.  Seeing the red go-mobile pull up to the curb, he stood with a broad smile.  "Hey!", he greeted Mike, then tossed the presents into the center seating and jumped into the passenger seat.  He didn't lose a moment before beginning to rattle off commentary on some of the tunes and albums that were high on the charts as well as the latest promo vinyl he'd heard in the store, plus factoids about various recent customers.  "You haven't heard the latest Yardbirds' album, have you.  It's pretty hot.  Some great guitar and racy stick work in there.  You've heard the <i>Beatles '65</i> record, though.  It hasn't stopped flying off the shelves.  Nearly every kid who comes in the door is wanting to get their hands on it.  We're almost out of them again, and we completely restocked last week!  You won't believe it, but there was this one girl who came in to buy it..."  He wandered off on a verbal tangent as they drove home.</p><p>Mike was paying decent enough attention to what he was saying, sure, but sometimes Micky's chosen topics weren't quite what his mind would normally focus on.  Not that it was focused at all when Micky was speaking, per se.  He was convinced the man could sing the phonebook and it would leave him enraptured.  Micky's voice, whether directed at him or not, whether singing or talking or laughing, consistently strummed just the right chords in him that traveled directly through to his soul.  Though he hadn't given any drugs a go himself to know for sure, he imagined that the effect Micky had on him wasn't altogether that different from getting high.  Unconsciously so, then, it didn't always seem pertinent to him to pay attention to Micky's individual syllables when the whole melody itself was just as enjoyable.</p><p>"...Don't get me wrong; it's not bad at all.  It's just, I don't want to sound too out there, but I think what we've done is better.  And your writing is right up there with the greats.", he winked at him with a grin, finished with his story.</p><p>"You think so?"  Mike mentally went back and rewound Micky's dialogue in an attempt to arrange the words he'd heard and to take it all in.  <i>Of course Micky thinks well of us and'd praise our own band above... who was he talking about?  Oh, right, The Beatles.</i>  He nearly laughed; to hear that level of praise from Micky for their band brought him warmth, much the same as it brought him to just be with Micky in general.  It would normally bring him peace as well, that was unquestionably true, but that was <i>before</i>.  Now, he regularly teetered between contentment and unease.</p><p>"Seriously, we are outta sight.  I said it the other day, but I'm serious — I just <i>know</i> that we're on the brink of something big.  We'll have our own album for sale in stores in no time."</p><p>He nodded through Micky's enthusiasm.  "That'd be real nice.  I hope so."  Man, he hoped so.  But his uncertainty caused him to skip tracks over to another topic.  If he were to just sit here listening to his best friend's easy chatter and try to ignore his own feelings, Mike could pretend everything was as normal between them as it had ever been.  But the knot of worry that had been developing in his gut was growing difficult to ignore.  <i>Now's prob'ly as good a time as any to work the conversation in.</i>, he decided.  "Mick—"</p><p>"Hold that thought!", the young man in question interrupted with delight, raising the radio's volume and effortlessly singing along like a maniac, pleased as could be with life.  "...Orleans... they COLLLLLL the RIIIISING Sun!..."</p><p>Mike fondly shook his head and leaned back, captivated by Micky's voice and style as always, shoving down into the recesses of his mind for a just a little while longer the fact that he'd once again been kept from — that he kept <i>himself</i> from — saying what he needed to say, what needed to be said.  Not that he had come up with exactly what those words should be; he could never seem to find quite enough willpower to concentrate long or hard enough to find them.  Micky being there, being with Micky, thinking of Micky, letting Micky <i>be</i> kept seeming to capture the highest importance to him above any potentially disruptive functions.  Micky was a drug he needed to be strong enough to come down from, and he had to come down from him very soon.  <i>In just another minute.  When we get home.</i></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you have a wacky wires-got-crossed story from your own life, do share!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Honesty time:  Chapters 1 and 9-14 were the original chapters I wrote, and everything else in-between has basicaly been filler.  Having said that, I'm really pleased with how the story got fleshed out.  And on that note, Lauren_StDavid and 70mtt helped from point A to point B and made this and every other chapter better!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C9 - TUESDAY, EVENING</p><p>Mike parked in the pad's driveway early that evening instead of bothering with the garage; it was supposed to be a nice night, and besides, they would probably need to go to L.A. and pick up Peter in a couple of hours anyway.</p><p>Because it was that time of year, it was already dark outside, but Micky nevertheless stayed smart and took no chances in public.  He waited for him to unlock and open the front door and go inside, then slipped in behind him, tossing the presents onto the bureau just inside.  Mike had closed the door in the interim, but he hadn't quite finished relocking it when Micky shoved his left hand in front of him to manhandle him by his thin tie and turn him fully around.  <i>Ugh, he makes ties so damned sexy.</i>, Micky thought as he smooshed him up against said door with his body, holding Mike's narrow hips in place with his own, his other hand coming to land on Mike's waist.  He then angled his head and pressed his mouth decisively against the other man's, tongue gliding right in.</p><p>He was just about to open his mouth to tell Micky... something.  It was something serious, he'd thought.  But whatever it had been was off in a fog to him now, so it must not've been that important.  Without thinking, Mike pulled his unprepared hands up and smoothly over Micky's biceps and from there continued to where he draped his arms loosely around Micky's shoulders.  His right hand curled around the back of Micky's neck to massage the hair at the nape, his monkey keychain with house and car keys dangling from a finger of his left hand that hung down.  His movements were an instinctively welcoming response to getting pounced on by his boy, and their closeness and Micky's essence had instantly soothed him.  "Ahh, Mick.", he sighed in thoughtless satisfaction when he came up for a gulp of air, though not moving away, their noses brushing.</p><p>Micky, pleased as could be, let his steadying hands roam downwards to take hold of Mike's ass.  Up top, he went back in again for more, and his mark was all too willing to forget the rest of the world existed for now and follow Micky down to whatever depth of oneness he chose.</p><p>A hint of a noise was faintly heard but not recognized, which they each in their distraction assumed originated from the other.  But the sound repeated itself, more loudly this time and clearly emanating from the back of a throat, followed up by a creakily-voiced greeting.  "All right, guys?"</p><p>"AAAAAHH!"  Micky immediately shrieked as he jumped and spun around.  At the same time, the keychain on Mike's finger went flying up into the air as he flung his arms away, and with a clatter it landed on the floor nearby.  The both of them had flattened themselves side-by-side against the door and the wall beside it, hands down, ending their movements blanched and frozen at attention.  "Davy!", Micky yelped, eyes darting across the pad over to where the lamp was that he then noted they had not left on.  By it, their roommate stood next to his luggage, his tambourine now forgotten in his hand.  "Hh— How did you get here?", Micky inquired in a squeaked falsetto.</p><p>"Tracked down a bloke going the same way out of the airport.  We split the gas."  Davy would have shrugged had his body not been in shocked, suspended animation.  "Cheaper than hiring a car since you didn't answer the phone earlier today."  This was about the time of day when he would have normally expected the two of them to be home after swinging by from work to pick him up from school.  Due to it being the holiday season, he was neither at school nor did he expect Mike to be in town or either of them to be at work, so he hadn't thought of calling their jobs to see if they were there.</p><p>"Oh.  Uh.  Great!  Haha.", Micky sputtered idiotically.  "You didn't stay with your family?  I mean, your birthday...", he trailed off due to nerves, fingers brushing the door behind his upper thighs.  He could hear to the extent of almost feel Mike's intensely labored breathing over to his right.  The last time Mike had made a sound like that, they'd been naked in bed, Micky's hand grasped tightly around Mike's cock and lips and tongue suckling at his neck.  <i>Get your mind out of the gutter, Micky.  Now is not the time.</i></p><p>"There's a blizzard coming down from Iceland.", Davy answered.  "Flew back just in time to miss it; otherwise I wouldn't've been able to get back for at least days more.  Anyway, I've been gone a week."  He looked to Mike specifically.  "Wot about you, then?  Wot are you doing back already?"</p><p>Having stared off into the distance for a split second since initially spotting Davy, he still couldn't make eye contact or respond and was on the verge of hyperventilating.</p><p>"He missed his flight.", Micky supplied helpfully.</p><p>Davy harrumphed, though non-judgementally.</p><p>"No, I'm serious.  He missed it by accident, and it was too expensive to rebook."</p><p>Their standoff continued in silence for another few seconds before Davy shifted his weight and commented with curiosity rather than asked a direct question.  "'S odd.  I don't think I've ever seen Mike kiss anyone before."</p><p>Micky absently chuckle-giggled.  "Funny you should mention that.  He said the same thing on Christmas Eve after he kissed me for the first time.  Lucky me, right?"</p><p>"Micky?", soon came a choked interruption from next to him.</p><p>"Yeah, Mike?"</p><p>His words came out staccatoed and soft and raised in pitch as if he had a gun pointed to his head.  "Please stop talking now."  He'd barely calmed down any from his near panic attack to communicate that simple sentence.</p><p>At that, Micky's brain caught up with him, and he winced slightly.  "Too much information.  Right.  Sorry."</p><p>Another few seconds ticked by.</p><p>"Look, guys.  I'm not miffed or cheesed or anythin'.  Just bloody gobstruck is all.  Didn't see it coming.  But I don't ...mind."  The last word almost sounded like a question.</p><p>Micky blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling for a second, incredibly relieved.  He was so very glad to hear that from Davy, to essentially get his blessing and to not have him be horrified or disgusted.  Although he'd considered that alternate possibility when he was at his mom's house, he had since put off any real thought about how they would share their relationship with their friends.  This accidental reveal to Davy, the one who Micky had been worried about, had thankfully gone over well enough.  And as far as Peter was concerned, he was always so accepting of everyone that Micky had a feeling he would welcome and accommodate the two of them being together no matter how they presented the idea to him.</p><p>"Please don't say anything to anyone about this.", Mike spoke up again, sounding only marginally more human this time.  His pleading eyes then flicked over to their English friend whom he'd addressed.</p><p>"I won't.  Not to worry.", he tried to sound casual, mostly over the apex of his shock by then.  He placed the tambourine he'd been holding onto the chaise longue, having taken it across the pond with him to demonstrate to his grandfather in person a sampling of the songs the four of them had been working on.  A thought occurred to him then.  "So, this, ah, 'thing'...  You're going to tell Pe'ah when he gets back, right?"  He closed his suitcase back up and clasped it shut, now with just his clothes and necessities remaining inside it.</p><p>Mike returned to imitating a deer in headlights, unwilling to engage further with the idea of sharing any information at all, while Micky stuttered a response.  "Uh, of course.  I mean, we'd have to ask if he's cool with it too, ya know?"</p><p>"Okay, just so long as <i>I</i> don't have to find a way to bring it up or explain it to him."  Davy took hold of his suitcase and started their way, between them and the spiral staircase.  It didn't take a rocket scientist to determine there was something going on between Mike and Micky regarding being caught that they needed to work out in private.  "You guys ...have a good night.  I'm gonna sor' out my things and crash.", he nodded past them towards his bedroom door.</p><p>"Sure.  Um.  Need any help?", Micky offered daftly, his back coming unplastered from against the door.</p><p>"I'm good, thanks."</p><p>"Okay.  Great."</p><p>On his way by, Davy paused to scoop up the keys that had gone airborne in fright earlier and handed them to Micky who was closest to him.</p><p>Micky smiled his thanks and awkwardly watched his friend retire into the bedroom just a few feet away with his luggage.  Once they heard the door click shut, Micky relaxed noticeably with a lungful's rush of air, his face distorting to a laughing position without producing much noise.  <i>That could've gone </i>so<i> much worse than it did.  He's okay with it!</i></p><p>Mike however didn't relax at all, and he wasted no time crossing in front of Micky to fly up the stairs, away, into their bedroom.</p><p>Micky's expression quickly evened back out as he watched him go, picking up on a worrisome hint that something wasn't right.</p><p>Once inside, Mike came apart internally.  Davy's abrupt arrival had brought reality crashing back.  His mouth a tight line, he ripped his wool hat off and released it unceremoniously to the floor.  <i>I shoulda ended this already.</i>, he lashed out at himself, tension rising, and he pulled off and threw his shoes to the side of the door where they hit the wall before he collapsed to sit on the edge of the far side of his bed, squeezing his temples and running his hands over his face repeatedly.  Mike had just plowed smack into this massive failure he had himself created, and for the first time since before he had thought to leave his old life in Texas behind, he felt trapped, unable to see a light at the end of the tunnel.</p><p>Only after he was situated there did he hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs.  When he'd had the chance, he wished he had instead turned around and run out the front door where Micky couldn't as easily follow.</p><p>Micky quietly stepped in the room then and, with concern twinge in his heart, contemplated Mike's restless, hunched-over form.  Just as quietly, Micky closed the door behind him in case Mike would be upset about Davy hearing any of their impending conversation even though chances were the kid was already out like a light.  He wasn't sure what was going through Mike's head about this situation — <i>embarrassment, most likely?</i> — so he placed Mike's keys down on the dresser inside the door and hesitantly decided to go over and sit across from Mike on the edge of his own bed, hoping he'd be able to talk to him about it so they could work through whatever Mike was having trouble with.</p><p>
  <i>Please don't.  You're too close.  This is too much.  I can't do this.</i>, Mike's thoughts ached.
</p><p>When it looked to him that the older man wouldn't have an interest in shifting his hands from his face any time soon, Micky finally spoke up, his voice as reassuring as he knew to make it.  "Davy's solid, babe.  It's no sweat."</p><p>"Davy's solid.", Mike repeated in a beaten-down tone, voice rumbling in the recesses of his throat.  Stonefaced, he dropped his hands, then shook his head and stood up.  Removing his coat, he dumped it on the floor, an uncouth act which couldn't've been less like him, and turned around and crawled deep into the covers of his bed facing the wall away from Micky.</p><p>To Micky, it felt like Mike had pulled himself a million miles away and had taken all the oxygen in the room with him.  Mike hadn't ever acted like this with him before.  And it made no sense as it was too early for them to hit the hay.  Micky was clueless as to what was going on here, so it didn't make it easy for him to come up with something say to fix whatever had gone wrong.  Was Mike really <i>that</i> upset with him for telling Davy he'd kissed him the other night?  <i>Maybe that's it.</i>, he thought with gloom.  <i>He really didn't want me saying </i>anything<i> to anyone, and I guess I screwed up.</i>  "I'm sorry if I said anything you were uncomfortable with."  <i>But Davy's okay with it.  He said he was, and he's good like that.</i></p><p>Just when Micky had sat there, ignored, for a handful of seconds feeling increasingly uncomfortable to the extent of disheartened, Mike, eyes screwed shut in acute displeasure, quietly answered him back with a croaked non-answer.  "Night."</p><p><i>What?</i>, Micky wondered.  Though it assuredly sounded like a dismissal, at least it was something.  But he frowned; he didn't like or want Mike being upset, either with him or in general, and he still obviously was very upset at something.  Sensing Mike would be jumpy if he tried to touch him, Micky moved off the bed to instead pick up Mike's discarded items and do his own uncharacteristic move of tidying things up,  He placed Mike's green hat next to his blue hat on the dresser by the keys and hung his jacket up on their coat rack to the right of the door, taking off and hanging up his own jacket on the rung next to it.  He then turned back to collect Mike's shoes, took off his own, and straightened them all up in their normal row against the wall.  Having allowed a few moments pass during this whole process, he looked back at the lumpy blanket hiding his seemingly benumbed best friend who hadn't moved, and Micky frowned harder.  It hurt him to see Mike so unsettled.  <i>Surely he's just freaked out from Davy seeing us kissing, and knowing someone knows about us kissing, all he needs is time.  Maybe he does just need to sleep it off; he'll feel better about things in the morning.</i></p><p>Micky turned off the light and shuffled back over to his own bed, getting under the covers, and lying down facing Mike's blanketed back for lack of anything more important to do than to just supportively be in Mike's presence.  "Night, babe.", Micky told him delicately.  Since moving into the pad, they had almost always said some version of good night and good morning to each other.  The past four days, though, the pleasantries had been imbued with a more intimate tone.  A simple "night, babe" this time around, when Mike sounded like he was struggling, seemed to Micky like it left a whole lot to be desired.  As with the presumed bad luck of failing to kiss underneath a mistletoe, he didn't want to leave Mike hanging, regardless of whether or not the other man would be especially receptive in his current state.  All Micky wanted was to help smooth this over, to help Mike feel like he could be more at ease with things again.  So the moment had lulled before he added on "I love you." to fill the newfound void between them.</p><p>"Don't say that.", Mike shot back through clenched teeth, his heart clenching at the same time.  <i>No.  Why'd you have to go an' say that...</i></p><p>Message received and promptly returned to sender.  Over the next few seconds, Micky's throat tightened, and in the darkness of the early winter evening, he blinked in confusion.  "Well, it's the truth."  <i>Why would he snap at me for saying that?</i></p><p>"You shouldn't."  Though still a snap, the guitarist sounded more tired and defeated this time.</p><p>A small part of Micky's brain found that response a little funny.  He'd met a few people in the last year or two who might say Mike was a difficult person to love, but Micky thought the Texan was sweet and kind and handsome and funny and just right.  There really wasn't anything he could think of that he would want to change about Mike that would make him feel more strongly about him, not even if he could up and change him into a girl.  And after four days of intimacy that Micky would swear went beyond mere sexual activity, it was natural to hazard a guess that Mike felt at least <i>marginally</i> similarly about him.  <i>He likes me, at least.  I </i>think<i> more than as just a friend.  Doesn't he?</i>  The younger man adjusted the pillow beneath his head, moving his fingers to grip the pillowcase's flat corner, and hoped out loud that it was true.  "I think you feel something for me too."</p><p>After a demoralized sigh, there was a space of dead silence followed by flat-sounding "It don't matter how I feel."</p><p>That cryptic answer caught him off guard.  <i>What does that mean?</i>  "I think that's all that matters."</p><p>"Micky," he could be heard grumbling as he turned over his direction, "<i>we can't do this.</i>"</p><p><i>Why not?</i>  "We already <i>have been</i> doing this.  Nothing's changed."</p><p>Finding himself unable to look Micky's way even in the dark, Mike flopped onto his back.  "But now we have to stop."  It came off as if he were chastising a child.  "What we were doin' was never supposed to happen, and it sure wasn' s'posed ta last.  I never wanted it ta get this far.  And I never shoulda let it happen in the first place."</p><p>That stung.  Every inch of that past-tense confession was weighty, and it stung.  It took Micky a long, dragging moment to work around the implication and the rawness it caused as it worked through him.  "So, what," he answered with the confidence of optimism that it wasn't true, but at the same time, the seed of doubt growing exponentially, "you were just experimenting on me because I don't mean anything to you?"</p><p>"No, of <i>course</i> not!", Mike slammed his hand on the bed in front of him in an unfamiliar and concerning display of anger.  Sighing in frustration, Mike lowered his voice back down.  "Us bein' together ain't realistic.  And we're young yet.  You'll find a good girl you'll want to settle down an' have kids with.  I won't keep you from that."  <i>Micky c'n be easily led, and I had no right ta take advantage of that no matter how I feel.  That was so wrong of me.</i>  He rubbed his temple again and tried to assure himself things would work out.  <i>But he'll be fine.  He's just talkin'.  He'll get over this easy enough and move on, and I ain't gonna hold him back.</i></p><p>Thoroughly confused now, Micky shook his head and sat most of the way up.  "But I only want you."  As truthful as he was, it came out sounding whiny and terribly naïve, but there was nothing that could be done about it.  <i>Okay, so is he scared about having feelings for me?  Or is he just scared about other people knowing he has feelings for me?  And he's probably also worried it could mean he's a homosexual.  I get it because I was dealing with those same questions at Mom's house when she told me she knew.  But he's always so easygoing about everybody that I didn't realize he'd have such a big hangup about it.  Neither one of us have ever really talked about stuff like that, though.  But if that's the case, it's okay.  We can work through it.</i></p><p><i>'But I only want you.'</i>  A tremor went through Mike from hearing Micky say those five words, and he reminded himself he had to be strong.  "You're not even twen'y years old yet.  You'll meet the right girl soon enough.  It'll be easy that way."</p><p>"Nope.  Nuh-uh.  I'm not buying it.  If you think you're shooting me down in the dark for no good reason after making out with me not even ten minutes ago, you're nuts."</p><p>"The sooner you accept reality, the better."  He hated the acrid way it sounded before it had even left his mouth, but he couldn't help it.  If being firm and detached, if not presumably cruel, was what it took to turn Micky off of him, then so be it.  Mike would have to live with that, and he would find a way to work to smooth things over after the fact.</p><p>Micky wasn't yet convinced that this was what Mike wanted were he able to get past his hangup.  He held on to the idea that it was only what Mike thought would be best for Micky.  <i>Well, forget that.</i>  He chose to believe that Mike having what Mike really wanted was in both of their best interests.  "Nothing has changed for me or is going to change for me.  I love you, and I'll still feel the same way in the morning."  After offering this last buttressing admission, he hoped Mike would see the sense in it by the time they woke up and intended on letting him be until then to deal.</p><p>Micky's tender words echoed in his head.  <i>He can't.</i>  Hit with emotion, Mike's eyes closed once more, his face crumpling along with the movement.  It took all he had not to let out a sob as an uninvited tear slipped down his cheek and splatted overly loudly onto the pillow below.  With reluctance, his mind came to and settled on a thought:  <i>If he can't move on on his own...  maybe there's no other way out.</i>  His insides churning, he had nothing further to contribute to the conversation; he just lay there, irredeemably tense.  The pain and guilt from what he had said and from what he was now thinking of doing made it too difficult for him to fall asleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay in posting.  The last month of my life has been nuts.<br/>I've rewritten this chapter some since my lovey betas saw it, so I hope it's not too rough.<br/>(This story as I first wrote it had an alternate ending.  While it was an entertaining distraction, it went darker, so I'm sticking with this.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C10 - TUESDAY, NIGHT</p><p>Micky awoke to fumbling noises and the sound of a drawer being smoothly closed.  The light in the half bath was on, but the door was mostly shut, supplying only a sliver of illumination to work with.  He had no idea what time it was apart from the fact it was still dark out.  Him waking up at night was a rare occurrence, so he couldn't imagine what had caused it.  Groggy, he shifted to prop himself up on an elbow and squinted across the room.  He could make out a tall shadow standing there.  <i>Mike.</i>  "What are you doing?", he asked softly, sleep causing him to not have a full voice just yet.</p><p>Mike, still dressed from earlier and now with his green pom-pommed hat back on his head and his boots back on his feet, went motionless upon hearing the question.  He realized he must have woken Micky up when he'd accidentally knocked the box he was holding against the side of the drawer.  For some minutes he had been on autopilot, refusing to think, just pushing through until everything was squared away and he was out the door at which point it would be all over and done with, and he could slow himself down and acknowledge his emotions and come to terms with the aftermath — alone.</p><p>So the first thing that Mike thought when Micky spoke up was that, until such time, he could not let Micky through the protective barrier he had mentally formed.  If he did, he'd lose all self-control just like every time before, and just like when he was tipsy from the brandy and set off this whole complicated implosion, and he felt that this was his last chance to take responsibility for his actions.  He had to be strong, even if his mindless headway had gotten interrupted by the one person he absolutely could not have a discussion with.  <i>I guess I won't need to write a note now.</i>, he sighed internally, willing himself to answer Micky's question and <i>only</i> that question.  And he didn't, couldn't, look Micky's direction when he did so.  "Moving out."</p><p><i>Holy hell.</i>  "What?", Micky quietly shrieked before jolting upright in bed, suddenly completely awake.  He swiveled his head around and found neat piles of Mike's clothing and other belongings arranged in and around the Texan's suitcase and laundry bag on his bed.  He was apparently quite serious about moving out and quite serious about doing it right then.  <i>What the...?</i>  Without any comprehension of the situation or any idea of what to say, Micky jumped out of bed, nearly tangling in and tripping over the covers in the process, and dashed across the room stopping just short of his friend-turned-lover.  "Mike.", he said with softness and concern, placing a tentative hand on his arm and hoping his progression would be halted.</p><p>"Lay off.", he snapped, numbly recoiling at the touch and turning away further.</p><p>Micky wasn't prepared for that reaction, jerking his hand back when Mike acted like he'd been burned by it.</p><p>Still without even a glance his way, Mike crossed back over to his bed to put the box of miscellanea which he had gotten out of the drawer into a corner of his suitcase next to his baggie of toiletries.  The box contained a pocket dictionary, two little tin toy cars he got as presents when he was a boy, a bookmark with sentimental value, past Christmas cards he'd received from the guys and from his mother, random odds and ends, and, now protected with his blue hat so as not to get damaged, a small wooden guitar Micky had carefully carved, assembled, and decorated for him last year for his birthday that was a scale duplicate of his acoustic guitar.  It and the real thing were two prized possessions he could never see himself being able to part with.  But he methodically veered his attention to what items were left.  <i>I'll leave my records.  Should I take my band shirts or leave them here for the next guy?</i>, he wondered before moving to the closet to make a decision on that matter.</p><p>Micky pinched himself to make sure this wasn't a very bad dream, that this really was happening, that Mike really was leaving.  Micky's heart was beating in overdrive.  Taking in Mike's stuff that was spread out on the bed, he wanted to grab all of it and throw it out and make it disappear and then shake Mike until he had reverted back to his normal, rational, and verbally analytic self.  Micky's head called on him to act, but he had no clue what to <i>actually</i> do without setting his best friend off further, so he simply stood there gawking at him.  He felt like it was a dream state indeed, but more in the realm of a waking nightmare.</p><p>After a minute of his anxiety ramping up notch by notch and having nothing to show for it, just the feeling of Mike piecemeal receding from his life with every item folded or packed away, Micky slowly backed up to the door.  Without removing his gaze from Mike in case he would somehow instantly disappear if he weren't looking, Micky flicked on the overhead light switch, turned the knob to open the door behind him, stepped one foot backwards onto the balcony and then another, and turned his head just enough to yell downstairs.  "DAVY!!  HELP!"  It struck Micky then that calling for Davy instead of Mike when something went sideways was an unpleasant, alien feeling in his mouth.</p><p>Mike turned around and hissed at his vocal disruption.  "Whut're ya doin'??"</p><p>Before Micky could come up with an intelligible response, Davy rushed out of the downstairs bedroom in his pajamas having been obviously sound asleep until then.  "Wot is it???", he demanded, looking looking up at the balcony and trying to decide what kind of emergency would require his presence up there.</p><p>"<i>Mike</i> — he can't leave!", Micky called down in response, as if those few words made a whole lot of sense on their own.</p><p>With the words being out of Micky's mouth and Davy now awake, Mike turned his back to him again and suppressed a growl.</p><p>"Wot?!"  Davy wiped the blur out of his own eyes, annoyed that he wasn't jostled awake for something more important-sounding — like, say, an earthquake.  Or Micky being on fire.  Or better yet, a Beatles concert in their living room.  He'd just flown half way around the world, was terribly jet-lagged, and had only gotten a couple hours' kip at the most.  But he trudged up the stairs for his friend nonetheless.</p><p>"Mike said he's moving out."  Micky breathed loudly, his mind racing.  "He can't.  We need rope.  Or something.  Do we still have the rope from— from when—", he trailed off in a stupor, the visual flitting through his head of Mike being tied up by the unruly kids when Milly had moved in for a short time.</p><p>With Davy about to get in his business, Mike switched gears and began haphazardly shoving his socks and underwear into his laundry bag.  He needed to get out of there.</p><p>Having come up behind Micky, Davy could see that the drummer hadn't been awake long either from the looks of his disheveled hair and the rumpled clothes he'd been wearing earlier.  Their shortest friend then leaned to the side and addressed his bustling friend from around his stupefied friend.  "Mike, wot's the deal?", he moaned, sure that Micky must have been confused about whatever was going on as Mike wouldn't just get a wild hair and up and leave them.  That wasn't Mike at all.</p><p>In response, Mike moved towards the door to push it shut with the intention of leaving the other two out on the balcony so he could finish up as quickly as possible in peace — save that Micky, who was becoming increasingly distressed, leaned forward on the door to prevent it from closing, and he, followed by Davy, continued on ahead, stepping into the bedroom.  So Mike abandoned the door-closing option in an effort to temporarily calm the situation.  He turned and went back to resume packing up the rest of his meager possessions.  Pretty much all that would be left to grab afterwards was his acoustic guitar on the bandstand.  He would leave behind the old 6-string electric and its amp; it's not like he could carry that and everything else at the same time, even if he had any idea where he was going and even if he would have a place to plug it in and play it.  <i>Maybe Pete or Mick'll teach Davy how to play it.  Yeah.  They'll do just fine as a trio if need be.</i></p><p>"Mike.", Davy repeated.  "Don't tell me you're seriously moving out because of what happened earlier."</p><p>"Then I won't."  Thinking he might need his blanket, he started to stuff it into the suitcase but then took it out again ascertaining the obvious, that there was no hope it would fit in there.  He shoved it into his laundry bag instead and tried not to think about what it might weigh.</p><p>His short and abrupt reply, though, left them both gaping, and they were at a complete loss.</p><p>It took a moment of reflection, but a thought hit Micky then which caused his blood to chill in his veins and his face to go slack.  <i>Oh.  Oh, man.  I told him I love him.</i>  He had said it not just incidentally, as a friend might do, as he had told him a dozen times in the past, and they both knew it.  <i>I told him I </i>love him<i>, and that's why he's freaked out.  It was too much for him.  That's why he's bailing.</i>  But even with that understanding, he could think of nothing to do about it, and his brain's processing ability ground down to a crawl.</p><p>"Mike.", Davy repeated for a third time, one hand up, palm out to his tallest friend, and he spoke his command assertively.  "Hang on for just a second, right?"</p><p>The request served to only negligibly slow Mike's operation due to a hint of guilt that crept in without his permission.  And he had been doing so well with purposefully not feeling anything for the past half hour save only for the feeling of motivation.</p><p>Davy wasn't satisfied with Mike's moody 'Then I won't.' non-answer to such an onerous accusation of moving out.  "Wot. is. the. bleedin'. <i>deal</i>?"  Hit tone was even more insistent this time given he was becoming more irked the longer he was awake.  He crossed his arms, brow raised in judgement.</p><p>Mike did pause then, at least momentarily, before answering in a hard, judgemental tone while his sight was focused on the items on his bed.  "This isn' right."  At that, Micky flinched as if he'd been slapped.  "It's just gonna get more complicated, and that ain't gonna be good for nobody."</p><p>Davy noticed Micky's reaction, but he decided to continue speaking now that he was starting to get somewhere with Mike, wherever that might be.  "I said I was fine with it.  No doubt Pe'ah will be fine with it too.  Don't you think you're overreacting <i>just</i> a bit?"</p><p>"<i>Am</i> I?", Mike fronted with a sudden intensity towards Davy that very nearly intimidated the smaller man into not holding his ground.  "This isn't normal behavior; it ain't gonna go down anywhere else but here.", he gestured with his finger downwards in a circle indicating the inside of the pad in general.  "Better to wrap it up before anyone gets hurt.  And this is the cleanest, easiest way."  And with that, he returned to his work, ignoring them.</p><p>Micky grasped for what braincells he could still find to rub together, his thoughts sluggishly all over the place and nowhere at once.  He just didn't comprehend this one-hundred-and-eighty degree change in Mike, this new indifference — no, unfeeling antagonism.  <i>Is it that he cares just enough to instigate ...what, a fun little time for himself? — but he doesn't want to care too much?  Or is it that he's <i>that</i> embarrassed and disgusted by me and what we've done together?  But if that's the case, why would he care about me getting hurt?  Obviously I already </i>am<i> getting hurt.</i></p><p>Just then, the phone rang.  Davy huffed and ran back down the stairs to answer it, leaving Micky standing there staring stupidly at Mike's now accelerated movements.  Powerless to stop him, Micky's hands hung limp and useless at his sides for quite some time.  <i>Where else will he go to live?  What will he do?  Will he stay in the band, at least?  Or will I ever see him again?  *What if I never see him again?!*  But he can't leave.  Except he really does look like he's leaving.  He </i>is<i> leaving.  But what can I do to change his mind?  Oh man, I have to do something.</i>  "You don't have to go.", he breathed tightly.  "Please don't do this."</p><p>Anger at himself seeping in to take the place of anything more questionable he could open himself to feeling, Mike frowned harder at Micky's alarmed and trembling tone.  He didn't want to reply but felt he had to shut him down.  "I've got to, Micky.  It's for your own good."  He couldn't look at him for fear of breaking.</p><p><i>My own good???</i>  Micky wondered if maybe Mike really was very embarrassed.  <i>I've upset him, obviously.  Have I hurt him?  Is he thinking he's going to take his hurt out on me?</i></p><p>Before anything more could be exchanged between them, Davy returned to the room having quickly changed into fresh clothes and still tucking in his shirt, jacket slung over his shoulder until he got himself completely together.  "Pe'ah needs us to pick him up from the airport."</p><p><i>Damn, that's right.</i>  Mike had lost track of that inevitability in his zeal to leave.  This threw a small wrench into his plan.  But he reminded himself that Davy had just had to pay out of pocket to get a ride back to the pad from the airport even though he had told him and Peter last week that he would pick them both up.  Having missed Davy because he came in early, Mike wasn't about to make Peter dip into savings to catch a ride home too.  "I'll be done here in a minute an'll go get 'im."</p><p>Davy looked to Micky who couldn't look anywhere except wide-eyed at Mike.  Rather than forming a reply, Micky rather seemed to be approaching a state of catatonia.  So Davy spoke up again.  "Well, we're going with you."  Because his friend had asked him for help, he was resigned to do what he could.  He also wanted this crazy issue sorted out along the way so he could just go straight back to sleep when they got home.</p><p><i>No.  That's not gonna work.</i>  Mike stalked over to the dresser, scraped the keys up, and tossed them to Davy, looking away without care before he even caught them.  "Then you go instead."  On his way back by, he glanced at the bookshelf in the corner of the room by Micky's bed and considered whether he wanted to take a couple books along that belonged to him, but he immediately decided no; like his records, there was no room for them, and he could always replace them some day if he really wanted to.  They were nothing like the little wooden guitar.</p><p>The Brit chuckled humorlessly.  "No licence.  You know that."</p><p>"Micky, you go get 'im.", Mike groused without looking at either one of them.  His concentration shifted back to the task he had to finish.  He decided against taking any of his books with him.</p><p>As if Micky were in a state of mind to drive anywhere for any reason anyway.  Davy thought that would have been clear to Mike had he been able to cool his jets enough to notice.  So Davy held the keys back out to his unnecessarily irritating friend.  "Your car, mate.  You drive."</p><p>"Fine."  Mike abandoned his packing and snatched the metal out of Davy's hand, pushing past them both to leave.  But with his newfound preference of making the drive alone, he wasn't impressed to find Davy hot on his heels on the way down the stairs and out the front door, Micky on panicked autopilot shuffling close behind, feet half out of his shoes and arms half out of his jacket.  Who knows if the door got locked, but that was the last thing on anyone's mind just then.</p><p>Once outside and in the driveway, Davy answered the obvious question.  "So you're just gonna announce to Pe'ah you're moving on?  You know you'd have to do some explaining on tha'.  And this is Pe'ah; he's not about to understand why.  'S not like <i>I</i> even understand it."  He was about to ask if Mike had bothered explaining it to Micky of all people when Mike twirled around to face them.</p><p>"What do you want me to do?!", he yelled in emotionally-cornered frustration.</p><p>Micky flinched and gasped at the same time, nearly stumbling backward.  He had never seen Mike act like that before — not to him, not to <i>anyone</i>.  It was like he was possessed.  All Micky could think was, <i>What have I done?</i>  And that question echoed around in his head unanswered for a time, sinking him.</p><p>As the last word left his lips, Mike instantly hated himself for being like that and having had that effect on Micky.  Instinctively, he wanted to apologize and ask forgiveness, but he held himself back knowing that doing so right now wouldn't help the situation and would surely make it harder for them both.  <i>This is the only way.</i>, he repeated to himself, holding firm.</p><p>He also realized after the fact that they were outside, in public, and his sudden outburst must have made him look and sound like a madman to more than just his friends.  A neighbor from a couple doors down, lit by his porch light, was staring at them.  Altogether vexed with himself and the state of affairs and at a loss as to what to about it at present, Mike whirled back around and got in the car, slammed the door shut, and started the engine.  He tensed further when out of the corner of his eye he saw Micky open the passenger side door and timidly, hesitatingly move into his typical shotgun position, though closer to the door than to Mike or even to the middle of his seat.  <i>Dammit, I'm sorry, Micky.</i>, he berated himself before trying to make his mind go blank once more in order to deal more easily with the circumstance he'd brought into being.  Davy climbed in the center seating, shutting the passenger door behind him, and not a moment too soon as Mike wasted no time in charging the GTO out onto the road and toward LAX.</p><p>On the way there, Mike restlessly tapped the steering wheel wishing miles would pass by faster.  But despite trying not to think at all lest he find a way to change his own mind, thoughts nevertheless came to him.  One of those thoughts was that Davy had a point:  How was he supposed to explain the situation to their sensitive housemate?  'Hey there, Pete.  Hope you had a merry Christmas.  I'm movin' out tonight, and I don't expect I'll ever see ya again.  Maybe you c'n teach the guitar to Davy.  Good luck with everything.'  <i>Shit.</i></p><p>"Happy birthday to me.", Davy griped mostly to himself, sick of Mike's bizarre behavior.</p><p>Mike heard it and scowled.  <i>Of course Davy would make it about him.</i>  And then he let the complaint sink in.  <i>But, well, it kind of </i>is<i> about Davy.</i>, he had to admit.  The young English transplant still mildly relied on Mike in a few ways not exclusive to transportation, and so suddenly departing might not prove stable for Davy or for the other two either; getting as far away from Micky as possible while remaining in the LA area would likely affect all three of them.  He felt it would be the right thing to do to compensate for that somehow and give them the best chance to get by until they made it big; after all, it wasn't as if he had given them anything resembling a two-week notice.  "I worked a lot of overtime lately to make sure we'd have some cushion next year.  It's enough for a month's rent, so you'll have time to find another roommate.  I'll leave it on the dresser."</p><p>A wave of sickness rolled through Micky.  His arms already hanging stiffly beside his body, he gripped the cream-colored seat underneath his thighs, digging into it with his fingernails.  <i>This is really happening.  This is really happening.</i>, he repeated to himself, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat.</p><p>Mike gave his housemates' coming predicament a few more seconds of thought.  <i>An' Mick cain' carry those drums around to gigs either.  It'd only be fair to leave 'im the car so they can all have a ride.  Maybe that'll help 'im not hate me so much.</i></p><p>"Not that we want you to think of us as charity cases, to be sure," replied Davy, "but where do you think you'd be going, exactly?"  In truth, Davy believed he was something of a charity case and the older man had helped him out more than he thought he'd be able to repay him for years to come, but he wasn't about to admit that at this juncture.  He was just looking to out-logic Mike and get results.  "And with wot money if you're giving your extra to us?"</p><p>Mike eyed him in the rear-view mirror.  "I don't wanna talk about it right now."  While he had kept ten bucks in his pocket, he had no plan, to be honest.  All he knew was that he had to get away to make things right.  If he were lucky, he might find a friend in Malibu who would let him couch surf for the night before he headed into L.A. as he didn't know anyone too well in the big city.  If he turned out not to be lucky, he'd hitchhike tonight and then find himself genuinely homeless right away.  <i>I'll either figure somethin' out or I won't.</i>  He pushed the thoughts away with determination.</p><p>"Brilliant.  We'll just wait by the phone, then, for when you decide to open up to us about your life decisions."</p><p>Mike grumbled his overall dissatisfaction which kept him from actually opening his mouth back up.</p><p>"I'll say it again:  I don't see what the problem is.", Davy flapped his hands in the air before flopping them back down to the seat and slid down into a slouch, a scowl etched into his features, lost as to the reason for Mike's overly touchy and in general supremely crappy mood.</p><p>They drove the rest of the way to the airport in strained silence.  Micky hadn't said a word since they had been in their bedroom, when he'd all but begged Mike not to leave, and Mike had started to become slightly worried; this had to be an all-time record of quiet for the young and normally loquacious Dolenz.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks again to my betas!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C11 - TUESDAY, STILL NIGHT</p><p>The Pontiac pulled up to the sidewalk outside the terminal.  "Hey, Pe'ah.", Davy greeted their companion less enthusiastically than he otherwise would have.</p><p>An oblivious Peter called back.  "Hi, Davy!  Hi, guys!"</p><p>The others stayed quiet.  Micky's gaze sort of drifted to the side towards him and then returned forward again.  Davy wasn't even sure Micky was all that aware of what was going on around them.</p><p>But Peter hadn't noticed, what with being caught up in the excitement of coming home from his trip, picking up his suitcase and placing it in the roomy rear seat, and having been addressed right away by Davy who moved over to the opposite center seat to make room for him.</p><p>"How was your holiday?", Davy asked.</p><p>All smiles, he had bounded over the closed door into the newly vacated seat.  "It was wicked great!", he announed, a touch of New Englandness having tagged along with him to the west coast.  Much like Micky had acted in Mike's recent memory, Peter was positively jubilant.  "Everyone got together, and Grams cooked the best meal.  It even snowed a little!"  Nodding to Mike and Davy, he continued, "And I got you both birthday gifts, but I promise to wait until tomorrow to give them to you."  He then ceased his stream-of-thought chatter and settled down, slowly picking up on the up-tight atmosphere.  "What did I miss?"</p><p>Micky couldn't find the words to reply.  He hadn't moved a muscle in ages, it seemed; his whole upper body felt uncomfortably stiff.</p><p>Davy cautioned a glance around at Mike in the seat in front of him when he didn't answer either.</p><p>Met with silence, a quickly dispiriting Peter made the obvious assumption.  "You had bad Christmases?"</p><p>"No, no.", Davy said.  "Christmas was good.  For all of us, I think."  From the visual he was treated to earlier, he made the reasonable deduction that both Mike and Micky had had an especially pleasant time without their other two roommates around.</p><p>Peter ruminated for a few seconds about why the mood could be so down.  "David, is Mr. Babbitt raising the rent?"  He put a contemplative hand to his chin.  "Did Mrs. Weefers find a nicer house to clean?"  He gasped softly.  "Did I accidentally leave my shoes in the sink again?  You can lay it on me.", he said with an affirming nod, already on the brink of tearing up at the series of upsetting thoughts.</p><p>Davy found it in him to pat his friend gently on the shoulder.  "No, all of that's fine.", he said after a second.  "And your shoes are on your feet, Pe'ah.", he supplied helpfully, trying for a moment not to laugh at the combined absurdity of the situation.</p><p>"Oh, neato."  The blond looked down at his feet and visibly relaxed with a small smile that, after awhile, returned to a worried look.  He then took particular note of his uncharacteristically mute and zoned-out-looking friend in the seat in front of him.  He moved forward, head curved around for a better view, and tried poking him in the left arm but received no response.  "Hey, guys?  I think Micky is broken."  Peter blinked in confusion at him before looking over to Mike and then Davy for input on this strange development.  "Did he get fed and watered while we were gone?"</p><p>Given the lack of conversation from their front-row agitator, Davy had pulled a face as almost half a minute ticked by.  So Mike was indeed going to leave it to him after he had specifically requested not to have to be the one to spell it out to Peter.  "The lads had a bit of a row.  But they're going to be fine because <i>Mike is going to stop being a duckarse and fix this</i>.  Isn't that right?", he called in a no-nonsense inflection, raising his voice as he went along with raising an eyebrow at Mike in a challenge to follow through.</p><p>Mike briefly glanced up at Davy via the rear-view mirror and then back to the road.  Despite the decently long drive to the airport, he hadn't been able to come up with explanatory words he was willing to share, nor any better solution to the quandry.</p><p>Peter pouted and shifted his gaze between his two friends up front.  "Please don't fight.", he lamented, albeit colored with optimism, especially given Davy's assurance that all would be well.  "I love you guys and want you to be happy."</p><p><i>Oh, Peter.</i>, thought Mike.  The innocent sincerity of what should be an easy, straightforward request took the most determined wind out of Mike's sails.</p><p>"And it's the time of year everyone should be happy anyway.", Peter added.</p><p>Having rolled his eyes with exaggeration and sighed making the assumption that Peter was wasting his breath, Davy decided he should level with him about what had gone down, spelling out the extent of the problem.  "Mike didn't get to go to his family's; he stayed here because he missed his flight, and he and Micky got together — romantically", he added in case Peter didn't quite catch on to what he meant, "— while you and I were out of town.  Then, for some extraordinary reason unknown to me, Mike went mental and decided to dump Micky.  Or the band.  Or both, I suppose."  He crossed his arms for the second time that evening.  "I'm not exactly sure on that point because Mike has lost any. and all. ability. to communicate."  Davy might be the youngest of the bunch, but today, it felt to him like he was the only one fully dialed in to some semblance of reality.  If only it were girls or music or horses or running around on the beach, but no, it was a full-on attempt at modeling actual adult behavior since the moment he woke up from his outrageously short kip, and he was out of his comfort zone in being the one to take charge of their group.  He wanted this mess to fix itself, and the sooner, the better.  He was a second away from going on about how Mike was being a stubborn, callous idiot, when Peter spoke back up.</p><p>"Oh.", he commmented, having absorbed and processed the news.  "I'm sorry you missed seeing your family, Michael.  But that isn't Micky's fault, right?", is what he mostly backwards took away from the rundown, skipping right over what to Mike was the massive elephant in the room.  Peter continued, "And, well, you still have to open your birthday presents tomorrow, so you couldn't leave yet anyway."  He seemed pleased with his definitive-sounding pronouncement, but an awkward silence lingered until another thought occurred to the young bassist.  "Doughnuts would help.  We should get doughnuts.  Oh, look — there's a Winchell's at this exit!", he pointed with glee.</p><p>The back of Davy's head thunked against the seat behind him at the thought of dragging this nonsense out even further.  Micky's earlier suggestion of tying Mike down at home with rope until he saw reason seemed to him like an idea increasingly worthy of serious consideration.</p><p>The Texan gritted his teeth.  He did <i>not</i> want to drag this out either; it had already gone on too long.  But he also wasn't keen on making every last one of the four of them miserable today, so as to keep the peace and Peter's good spirits, at least for a short while, he pulled off the highway and into the lot of the requested and luckily 24-hour establishment.  It would give him a little extra time to think some more, at any rate, for all the good it would do.</p><p>Once parked, Peter and Davy got out, but Davy stayed by the car a second, silently holding out the palm of his hand to Mike who cottoned on that he was after what amounted to babysitting money.  He fished in his pocket for some change and handed him what came up which was a quarter, a dime, and a nickel.  Once inside, Davy stewed while he and Peter waited in line, and his disposition caused Peter to start to wonder again.  "Everything <i>will</i> be okay, right?"</p><p>Exasperated from dealing with the drama, he rubbed his forehead.  "Sure, Pe'ah.", he ground out.  "One way or another."  Now that it was out of his mouth, he hoped it wouldn't once again be up to him to make good on it.</p><p>"Okay.", he shrugged it off, excited to focus on the sugary goodness ahead of them.  <i>They love each other too much to leave anyway.</i>, he reassured himself.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>Over the last hour, a terrifying thought had been worming its way into Micky's mind and expanding:  <i>What if Mike's only been humoring me and </i>doesn't<i> want me but doesn't know how to say no to a relationship with me?</i>  His stomach had sunk further as this turned into, <i>What if he was just drunk and lonely and curious and wanted a kiss that night, and I dragged him into this whole situation with no easy way out?</i>  He wouldn't put it past Mike to go along with something that Micky wanted, with Mike not wanting to make him feel badly about it by saying no, although this would really take the cake.  But so much uncertainty was swirling within him.</p><p>Every interaction in the past few days played through Micky's head, making him question everything:  <i>Mike may have made the first move when he was drinking and wasn't uptight about it happening then, but the next kiss was mine.  </i>I<i> suggested we do what we did that night.</i>  When they had woken up the next morning, Micky wondered if he'd pressured Mike into that too.  <i>Maybe I did.  I thought he wanted it, wanted me.  But maybe I did pressure him.</i>  Then on the drive over to his mom's house, he wondered if Mike felt like he had to force a friendly reaction to him.  And once they got there, Mike made a clear point of letting him know he didn't want his mother finding out, and when Micky looked at him a minute later, Mike averted his gaze pretty quickly.  That night in his sister's bed, Mike sounded hardly enthusiastic, having had to be talked into a kiss.  <i>I thought he was just nervous.</i>  And then Micky was all over Mike each time they'd get home.  <i>Had he been into that?  Had he </i>even been into that<i>?  God, what if he didn't want any of it and was just going along?  I take him for granted so much already.  This would be unconscionable...</i></p><p>In the meantime, Mike had hoped Micky would have exited the car and gone inside the building with Davy and Peter.  Sitting in the driver's seat obtusely trying to pretend to be interested in the dials in front of him on the dash, Mike had no intention to talk.  For one, he didn't know what else he could say that would make this any easier for Micky.  For two, he didn't want to accidentally say something that would make it worse.  And for three, he didn't want to accidentally say something that would make it <i>better</i> and for Micky to then try to talk him out of it, since he wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't cave.  So it was best for him to say nothing at all.</p><p>Micky, however, was coming close to his breaking point and couldn't take much more of the oppressive silence and frigidness from Mike who had, until so many hours ago seemed (albeit maybe only so in Micky's head) to be an exquisite source of warmth.  Micky was in mental knots over this but didn't know how to come out and address it.  So he opted for something of a generic-sounding apology to feel out where Mike might be at, to see if what he was thinking might actually be the truth and if Mike would even want an apology to address the serious line Micky might have crossed.  "If it's something I said, or something I did, I'm sorry."  There was the smallest catch of air.  "Please tell me.", the last words were squeaked out, apprehensive Mike might lash out again.</p><p>The self-doubt had really settled in deep by now, and Micky felt like no shower would wash away the dirt.  <i>Did Mike ever even once...</i>, he wondered.  A cold fear had since gripped his insides like a vice as he kept turning the situation over.  <i>Did Mike ever initiate </i>anything<i> besides our first kiss?</i>  Micky once again went over every moment they'd spent together since, and although he swore Mike had participated, he hadn't <i>initiated</i>, and could he truly, honestly say that Mike had wanted any of it?  He thought there might have been times, but maybe not?  He second-guessed himself into gaslit oblivion.  They had so far only fooled around in bed, Micky not wanting to spook him with anything too heavy so soon into their relationship.  But it appeared to Micky that Mike had most definitely been spooked anyway, and if it turned out that it wasn't so much a relationship as an accosting...  <i>How could I not have noticed?  How could I be so stupid and so selfish and put him through this?  And on top of it, I'm probably clingy and suffocating too.  Jeez...</i>  He legitimately thought he might be sick.</p><p>His apology rung around in Mike's head.  <i>Micky apologizing for something he did?  </i>He<i> didn't do he anything besides just be himself.  </i>I'm<i> the one who took advantage of 'im when I'm supposed ta be lookin' out for 'im!</i>  Mike closed his eyes, angry at himself and pained to hear Micky talk in such a demure, sad, self-defeating way.  He finally turned to him to assure him that—  <i>Damn it to hell.</i>, he thought, seeing that the closest friend he had ever had was not only still staring out the windshield at nothing in particular but was also closed-mouthed and wide-eyed with a silent tear falling down his cheek.  That was not at all what Mike wanted to see happen.  He had only wanted a clean break and Micky to go on with his life and forget about him.  The last thing he'd ever, ever intended was to make Micky miserable.  He was torn between throwing himself at Micky in an unyielding embrace or hurling himself the other direction out of the car before he himself broke down.  Feeling he needed to reassure Micky somehow that everything would be okay, he settled for a middle route of shyly latching on to Micky's left hand with his right and finding it unexpectedly limp and clammy to the touch.</p><p>Micky's anxiety kicked up another notch when Mike took his hand.  <i>He's </i>still<i> trying to be nice about it.</i>  He blinked hard, another tear escaping.  <i>But I've got to forget about me.  For the sake of the three of them, I have to try and salvage this.  Assuming it won't embarrass him more...</i>  "If you can stand to be around me, I promise I won't tell you... <i>that</i> ever again.  I'll switch rooms.  I won't even look at you again if it makes you uncomfortable."  And true to that, he hadn't looked at Mike in a long while, afraid now that if he moved at all it would make Mike flee faster than he was already trying to.  "Please, don't take it out on Davy and Peter."  He thought it might be a whole lot to ask, more than he should rightfully ask for.</p><p>"Oh, Mick."  The stabbing sensation in his chest was too much, and he couldn't leave the both of them sitting there alone and wrecked like that.  This was wholly his fault, not Micky's.  Davy was right; he simply had to fix it.  But how.  But he was fresh out of ideas.  So, just like every other time in the past few days, he couldn't stop himself from being helplessly drawn to the other man; he released his friend's hand and shifted the distance between them to pull him into a tight hug.  The difference now was that he had to push past the cold, novel feeling of stiffness as he tried to comfort him, the feeling that, for the first time since they met, the affection was not returned.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>"One vanilla with sprinkles.", Peter requested of the older clerk behind the counter.  "For Micky.", he added for the Englishman's benefit who stood there with a frown, working himself up.  "Mike would like a cinnamon bun, wouldn't he?"</p><p>"Mike would like a kick up the arse.", he muttered under his breath, softly enough so that it sounded like an unintelligible grumble to the salesman.</p><p>Peter paid no mind.  "He probably would want a cinnamon bun.  One cinnamon bun, please.", he added on to his order.  "What do you want, Davy?"</p><p>But Davy wasn't focused on the same goal at the moment.  "To knock some bloody sense into 'im.  This is mental!"  His response was louder this time.</p><p>"He'll take a long john, and I'd like a maple iced, please."</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>Micky squashed the urge to latch on to Mike, remaining as detached as he could because he couldn't bear to make things weirder.  Additionally, with his extremities being somewhat numb, the most Micky found himself able to do was to merely sag some into him.</p><p>For his part, Mike could feel the drummer lightly shaking and having trouble taking in air properly, and he mentally kicked himself for being so dense about his own handling of this.  His own vision was already blurry, and he had the suspicion that were he able to take his plan to its conclusion, he'd end up the very same hot mess as Micky by night's end, the main distinction being he would most likely be a hot mess on the side of the road somewhere alone, spectacularly failing to deal with it.  "You haven't done anything wrong at all.", Mike tried to comfort him, holding him even closer, finding it harder to breathe himself.  "This is all on me.  I never meant for this to happen."  He clamped his eyes shut and tears of his own pressed out.  After a moment, he whispered a contrition, continuing to hold on to him, not yet letting go.  "I never shoulda kissed you."  With his face close by Micky's cheek, he was so temped to give in.  But no, he told himself he must stand firm in this, and it didn't matter if it broke both their hearts in the process.</p><p><i>He never wanted me.  He never wanted us to happen.  He never wanted... what we did.</i>  He shuddered in revulsion at himself.  <i>And now I've told him how I've felt about him and </i>really<i> ruined everything.</i>  Dismayed by Mike's admissions, he shuddered again, a fresh batch of saline falling down from both eyes, one making use of the previous track.  <i>And what if I've really messed him up?</i>  He opened his mouth to speak but failed to get anything but a puff of air out on the first attempt, pressed against Mike as he was, so it all came out in a whoosh on the second try.  "I get that it was way, <i>way</i> too soon; I shouldn't've taken you to bed that night.  I shouldn't've pr—" he shuddered once more, out of breath, unable to find enough air to take in despite the windows being down and a cool breeze blowing through.</p><p>"Shhh.  Don't think I regret it for a minute.  Any of it.", a tearful Mike interrupted his sporadically-breathed explanation to clarify before pulling away just enough to take in his boy's... take in Micky's devastated, damp face and eyes that lacked any confidence to meet his but that nevertheless shifted somewhat his way in confusion.  It was so <i>wrong</i> not to see Micky boldly, unreasonably happy and effervescent.  Worse, the one and only time he had seen him cry before was when he got the call from his mother that his father had passed away abruptly.  It broke Mike's heart all over again to know that this time around, he himself had been the cause of enough pain to make it happen.  "My only regret's that I've hurt you."  He repeated in his head that he would do anything for Micky's benefit, and this distancing was part of it, even if it felt less than grand in the here-and-now.</p><p>Micky's ears had been throbbing with the sound of his pulse, his head was spinning, and the muscles under his skin were starting to spasm here and there from a lack of oxygen.  Though Mike had been replying, he hadn't really heard any of his words.</p><p>"It's okay, Mick.  It's gonna be okay."  Mike tried to console him, but for his part, he was getting very concerned.  He'd never seen Micky like this, and he wasn't looking good and seemed to be spacing out.  "You need to breathe.", he instructed.  "Micky.  Focus on something.  Here, look at me."  He took one hand and guided Micky's chin up towards where their eyes would meet, placing his other hand on the side of his head against his soft curls.  He had to take a second to steady himself so as not to crumble, making this all for naught.  He was so close to his own breaking point.  "Breathe."</p><p>The younger man heard those last words and delicately jerked his head as if he'd forgotten how to hold up his neck.  But he found it in him to make bleary eye contact, worried what aloof indifference or disdain he would find when their eyes met.  Taking a breath felt to him like being a fish stuck on land gasping for water, but he did so, and took a few more under Mike's supervision.  Micky felt so childlike and pointless and small.</p><p>For Mike, what had been his best Christmas ever was shaping up to be his worst birthday ever, and he didn't know if he'd be able to forgive himself for what it was doing to Micky.  He just prayed that, sooner rather than later, Micky could appreciate why he had to leave and would be able to forgive him.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>"Wot's the point, even; Mike's probably bounced 'im and driven off without us anyway."</p><p>"Well that couldn't be true.", Peter commented softly, leaning around to peer through the window and check.  "Mike wouldn't do that to any of us."</p><p>Davy as well as the clerk behind the counter followed his line of sight, spotting two young men hugging intimately in the car.  Before the clerk could make a comment, Davy perceived what he might possibly be thinking and covered for them.  "Death in the family."</p><p>The man blinked, then nodded once.  "Ah, I see.  Which one?"</p><p>Peter looked perplexed.  "It's hard to say; we're all family, really."</p><p>Thrown by that explanation and not interested in pursuing a deep conversation about it at this time of night, he shrugged.  "I'm sorry to hear it.  In that case, there's a doughnut in there on me.  That'll be twenty-seven cents."</p><p>"Thanks, mister!", Peter radiated enthusiasm, handing over the requested change and getting their sack of goods in return.</p><p>Davy's attitude had softened somewhat with seeing them apparently working it out from afar, and he shook his head.  "I don't know how we ended up in a band with those two."  The comment was more warmly dismissive than purely accusatory, and he moved some hair out of his eyes.  "Should we give them another minute?"</p><p>Peter nodded an affirmative because he couldn't verbally answer with half his pastry already embedded in his mouth.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm not completely pleased with this chapter, but I need to let it go.</p><p>Also, a misunderstanding vaguely similar to but not quite of this level once happened to me, and I was the passenger in the car during its resolution.  Write what you know, as they say.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C12 - TUESDAY, STILL NIGHT</p><p>Having caught his breath in what was approaching a near regular fashion, Micky was now otherwise motionless, all his faculties devoted to trying to deal with feeling even more heartsick and emotionally ridiculous.  Sitting here exposed as he was, all that came to mind was to apologize again, and so he did.  His eyes had long since lost focus on Mike and had drifted off to the front once more where he didn't feel like he would draw as much attention from him.</p><p><i>Damn it.</i>, Mike cursed himself.  He wiped his own tears away angrily with the back of his hand and, knowing he absolutely didn't have the right to, wiped Micky's away gently in turn with his thumbs.  He abhorred seeing his dearest friend like this, and it was eating away at him.  "Would ya stop <i>sayin'</i> that?  It's <i>me</i> who's sorry.", he corrected him.</p><p>Helpless about the inexplicable left turn their lives had taken this evening, Micky tried to speak again but failed with a sigh, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.</p><p>Mike wasn't sure the downturned look Micky had been wearing since earlier in the evening was ever going to leave his mind's eye, and he selfishly couldn't stand to be faced with remembering Micky like this for the rest of his life, remembering the hurt that he'd caused him.  "What is it?", he prodded in a desire to change it, not registering he'd spoken an encouragement until it had already exited his mouth.  He had made a mental note earlier not to spur Micky on to debate this topic as he believed it would do nothing but to draw it out and make things harder on them both.</p><p>Micky, eyes dropped, only marginally wagged his head again, not knowing what to do.</p><p><i>This's reduced him to bein' a mute.  I am the worst person on Earth, and I definitely don't deserve him.</i>  "Mick?"</p><p>With Mike's nickname for him that Micky had always loved to hear from his lips, he managed to meet his eyes now, if only for a few moments.  "Please don't leave.", Micky whispered, then paused, at a loss as to how to put how much he thought of Mike into words, and he shook again as he spoke.  "It's my fault, so I'll go instead.  <i>I'll</i> go.", he stressed with a single, curt nod.  "You shouldn't have to lose them over this.  And they shouldn't lose you."  I<i> can't lose you,</i> his mind rephrased, <i>but I already have.</i></p><p>"Micky, no.", he choked out, perturbed that just like that, just for him, Micky would put himself in the awful position of giving up his close friends.  "This is <i>my</i> fault."  <i>This is </i>my<i> fault.  Not yours!</i>, he echoed in a yell at himself.  He then carefully brushed away the last of the liquid from Micky's skin before hugging him for what he anticipated to be the last time.  Face buried in the crook of his neck, he breathed him in, then braced himself.  <i>I have to say no.  I have to say no.</i>  "You don't get it.  And that's my fault too."  Intending to be comforting, he rubbed circles across Micky's back before sighing and finally letting his guard down, squeezing his eyes shut to say what he didn't want to admit for the power it could hold.  "I shoulda told you:  I love you more than anything in this world.  But—"</p><p>"Hey, they're still hugging!", Peter whooped as he came around to the passenger side door.</p><p>With the sudden, unexpected intrusion, self-consciousness plowed into Mike, and like a magnet being repelled, he automatically retracted from and retreated from Micky, shifting himself back behind the wheel as if he were just a casual dude out for a Friday night drive.</p><p>"Hugging it out <i>is</i> a good sign, isn't it, David?", Peter asked curiously, ostensibly guileless as the day is long.</p><p>Davy flicked his eyes to Peter and then down to the front seats ahead of him where he warily eyed Micky and then Mike.  He wouldn't bet money that the situation was completely sorted.  With his jaw set, he intended to glower and carp at their cantankerous chauffeur, but noticing the both of them had red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, and never having seen Mike cry before, Davy chose in that moment to go easy on him.  "How hard do I need to smack you upside the head?"</p><p>It was clear to Mike that the comment had been directed entirely at him.  Not trusting his voice, Mike absently indicated in the negative and did so without looking up; he'd just wiped at his own face again, so he didn't feel as though he could be a man and acknowledge anyone by looking them in the eye.</p><p>"Have you gotten your act together now?  We want you to stay.  It really is that simple."</p><p><i>Simple.</i>, Mike laughed inwardly, lacking all humor.  <i>This is anything but simple.</i>  His mind hopped back to what he had said out loud to Micky, and recognition of the entirety and depth of what was behind his statement really hit him then like he hadn't ever allowed before.  <i>I love him.  I'm so far gone for 'im it's not even funny.</i>  His eyes closed in defeat.  <i>I think I've always known that, though.  But I love him, and I </i>told<i> 'im I love 'im.  I shouldn't'a done that.</i>  He shook his head once with dismay.  <i>I shouldn't'a, but it felt so right to.  I'd give anything for that ta be the right thing t' do.  Why should it have ta turn out so wrong?</i></p><p>Davy waited, but not getting a response, he lost patience and pulled the door open as Peter had just done on his side, and he climbed in, shutting it behind him.</p><p>The cracking sounds of the doors closing jolted Mike from his lament, and he found himself at a crossroads.  In a matter of hours, he'd gone from feeling a detached need of protecting Micky to the dread and grief of ripping Micky off like a scab to anger at himself for what he'd done to Micky, and then he'd wrapped it all up by feeling more and more like an ass as the seconds and minutes ticked on.</p><p>For the last few days, he'd been convinced that it would be easy to flip the switch on what they had going and cool things off.  Then this evening, although it had started off a little harder, he still thought it would be easy enough to alter the plan to flipping a different switch and carrying out the decision he thought would be far and away the most reasonable for all involved.  But doing so had proved both a more complicated and lengthier operation than he had anticipated as well as impossibly difficult now for the four of them.  Slowly coming to his senses, he was willing to admit that he may have screwed up.</p><p>Against his previous judgement, he was coming around to accept the idea that maybe, in the end — and in spite of him being the eldest and the de facto leader of their group — it wouldn't be right if he were the one to unilaterally decide what was best for Micky and, by extension of their household and band, Davy and Peter too.  He thought he really should give them some credit; just like him, they were basically all adults, and they deserved to be treated as such.</p><p>As he started the engine to leave, he came to the decision he had to do a better job of being an adult himself, to communicate better, and to not act as if he were going off the rails and thereby screwing everyone else up too.  With Peter and Davy now securely in the Pontiac, he pulled out of the parking lot more gingerly than he had pulled in and headed back onto the freeway.</p><p>Davy leaned against the interior of the car door as they went, left arm draped over the outside, running his fingers along the window sill.  Given that Mike hadn't spoken up since they'd gotten back in, he figured they'd all continue to be recipients of the first class silent treatment from him, meaning that just whenever it was that Mike would crawl out of whatever hole of a psychosis he had fallen into would surely remain a mystery for awhile longer.</p><p>In the seat across from Davy, Peter had settled back in and polished off his maple iced with a pleased look on his face.  He had banked on Mike not minding too much if he ate in the car; Mike usually didn't as long as they cleaned up after themselves, and sometimes he did have to remind them to.  So Peter lifted the sack just before he was about to offer everyone else their doughnuts, but that action coincided with the moment Mike decided to speak up.</p><p>"It's a felony, you know."  Whether Mike had intended to sound serious or offhanded, neither Micky nor Davy could say right then.</p><p>Puzzled and crestfallen, Peter looked down at the contents and whined, "I thought doughnuts were legal in all fifty states, Washington, D.C., and the dependent territories."</p><p>Davy almost facepalmed.  Sometimes Peter really made him wonder if it was all an act or if he really was just dumb.</p><p>Having calmed down just enough to regain minimal use of his annoyingly tingly arms and hands again, though still feeling rather numb all over, Micky tangled his fingers together on his lap.</p><p>Mike, eyes firmly glued on the road, began to clarify his words.  "A relationship.  Between Micky an' me."</p><p>At him mentioning the concept out loud to the guys, the other half of that equation did a mental and almost visual double-take.  <i>But you don't— ...What?</i>  Micky was nothing short of confused.</p><p>Davy was far less caught off guard, even by the permanency of how Mike had made that concept sound — appreciably different from a temporary tryst that would last until they got it out of their systems and more like a defined and seemingly serious, longer term affair.</p><p>"It's not a light slap on the wrist for that; it's <i>completely</i> illegal.", he stressed.  "So no, Davy, it's not that simple.  If we were found out, we could be beaten or shot, not to mention arrested, and somethin' like that's at least a year in prison."  He hazarded a glance over in the direction of his front seat passenger, but Micky did not meet his gaze.  Mike then looked back to the other two in the rear-view mirror.  "No ever gettin' t' vote again or even gettin' t' leave the country.  Plus it could be real tough ta ever get any job 'round here again."</p><p>It took a series of slow attempts for Micky to process all the related explanations that were leaving and continued to leave Mike's lips.  And all he was able to fathom was that Mike had chosen to feed their friends a line so as to save face for the both of them; it was apparent to Micky that Mike pointing out the social impossibility of a relationship would come off as drastically less character-annihilating than the truth, that Micky had taken advantage of him, an inappropriate and, moreover, unwilling party.  He thought Mike was a saint for having put up with him at all these last few days and then for sticking up for him now.</p><p>Mike tried to will the tension out of his arms but only ended up gripping the steering wheel harder.  "And then there's guilt by association.  The band — that'd be the end of any gigs or music careers.  But if I'm out of the picture, then problem solved.  You can all get on with your lives."  Mike swallowed the lump in his throat.  He had ceased checking for the reactions of the others, apprehensive of how they would digest the facts he had laid out.  They were younger, and the realities of their society probably hadn't had time and opportunity to really sink in yet.  He shook his head, thoroughly rankled at himself for not having made that clear off the bat.  Or at least the day before.  Or the day before that.  <i>Or I should never've kissed 'im at all.</i>, he reminded himself, the ache still lodged in his chest.</p><p>Peter, the culinary loot resting forgotten on his knees, answered sincerely and naturally.  "But we don't want you out of the picture, Michael.  We're all better off with you."  The other two wouldn't normally argue against that either.</p><p>"And like I told you earlier," Davy added, trying not to come off as annoyed as he felt, "we're fine with you two being together.  It's not like we're going to say anything to anyone and let the cat out of the bag."</p><p>"And yet you caught us immediately.", Mike pointed out right back.</p><p>"I <i>live with you</i>, you blockhead.  Of <i>course</i> I'd be expected to see... you know, a <i>little</i> ...stuff.", he made a queasy face before shrugging it off.</p><p>One side of Mike's face crumpled in a frown.  <i>Then it could only be a matter of days or weeks before others who </i>don't<i> live with us would figure it out.</i></p><p>Peter chimed back in to back Davy up, almost opposite-reading Mike's mind.  "I don't think anyone else will find out as long as it stays at home."</p><p>Mike hazarded a glance at Micky who, seeming a bit perplexed but more despondent than anything else, still wore a look of rejection, highlighted when his eyes closed and he swallowed, the sheen on his cheeks not yet fully dry.  Mike flattened his lips, remaining hung up with anxiety.</p><p>"And even if someone else were to see something at the pad," Davy continued with a line of thinking that made perfect sense, "you could always pass it off as Micky just goofing around."  But then he paused a second as he registered the potential full effect of what he'd said, and he leaned forward and eyeballed Micky from the side.  "That <i>was</i> a joke the other week, kissing me under the mistletoe, wasn't it?"</p><p>Eyes going wide, Micky's head whipped around to him in shock.  Without a thought, he broke his second stint of silence, voice cracking in the process.  "<i>Yes</i> it was a joke!"  He would <i>never</i> kiss Davy seriously.  Or Peter, for that matter.  He only was interested in Mike — Mike, who he was positive wasn't interested in him.</p><p>Davy outright shrugged this time, having previously assumed without a second thought that that was the case, so his reply needn't be tinged with relief.  "There it is, then.  Nothing to worry about."  He waited as the moment dragged on.  Willpower alone was not enough to resolve it, but he tried anyway.  "So is everything sor'ed now?"</p><p>Mike bit the side of his lip, considering much of the argument that had been decently rebuffed.  But that hardly meant it wouldn't still change their lives significantly if they decided to pursue a relationship, nor did it mean Micky would necessarily excuse him for putting him through this grief anyway.  Both were very real hurdles for them to mentally get over.  "Not entirely."  He gave a meaningful look over to the man at his right and asked him discreetly, "Can we talk when we get back?"  He wanted to say "back home", but he felt he had relinquished that presumption the moment he'd told Micky he was moving out.</p><p>Micky gave a short nod but, not seeming much less distressed than a minute ago and appearing to have shut back down again, couldn't vocalize an affirmation just then.  If he had, it may have been too soft to be heard and laced with too much bitterness directed at himself to be understood.  <i>I deserve whatever he wants to throw at me, and I'll stand there and take it before I go.</i>, thought Micky with meek confidence.</p><p>Seeing his persisting disquiet, Mike was downright kicking himself.  He wanted to be able to take hold of Micky's hand and convince him to smile again, but at this point he believed he had no right to, nor did he think the action would even garner anything resembling a smile now.  And, understandably, it wasn't as if Micky had made any move to accept his embrace earlier.  But whether there was any hope of them being together or whether there wasn't, Mike felt he needed to beg him for forgiveness.</p><p>The blond piped back up.  "Great!  We're all friends again!  So are you ready for your doughnuts now?", he lifted up the sack once more with optimism.</p><p>Holding back the urge to laugh at the absurd assumption, Davy held out his right hand.  Peter placed a napkin onto it and then filled it with the pastry as he'd planned to earlier.  The other two weren't as amenable.</p><p>"Thanks, Shotgun, but I'll eat it later.", murmured Mike, thinking, <i>I'll need somethin' ta eat when Micky makes my screw-up final and shows me the door after we get back.</i></p><p>Peter saw Micky, who couldn't conjure up an interest in food at the moment himself, barely shake his head.</p><p>"Mmm, a long john.", Davy hummed aloud, having missed in the store what it was that Peter had picked out for him.  But he paused again, and around a mouthful of it he inquired, "Did you get this for me 'cause I'm shor'?"</p><p>Peter blinked innocently.  "No, I got it for you because you like chocolate.  That's the best chocolate doughnut there is."</p><p>Davy, willing to ignore the other situation for the time being, smirked at him and took another bite.  "Thanks, mate."</p><p>Mike's thoughts were jumping here and there to try and tear his mind away from the subject of the mess he had made with Micky.  To that end, he momentarily wondered, at 8¢ a doughnut plus tax, if the Brit was holding out.  "Was there any change left over, Davy?"</p><p>"There was.  Which I've appropriated in the spirit of combat pay."  In reality, he decided he'd put it in the petty cash jar when they got home — which he then might keep close at hand overnight in case he had to wallop Mike with it and its contents.  Yes, things did seem to be closer to on the right track with his two friends, but he wasn't convinced giving the one a smacking still wasn't out of the question.</p><p>Mike didn't seem particularly aggrieved by his holding out.  "Fair enough."  He couldn't help his thoughts drifting back to the storm raging in his head.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I rewrote these last two chapters to some extent after my wonderful betas had kindly reviewed them, and I didn't want to be a bother by resending, so please let me know if you catch any mistakes so I can correct them.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C13 - STILL TUESDAY, STILL NIGHT</p><p>Peter placed the sack containing the two remaining pastries on the end table and lugged his suitcase into the downstairs bedroom before going to the restroom to get ready for bed.  During that time, Micky had silently headed upstairs with haste, chased by his own humiliation.  Davy had been next in the door, and Mike was the last, having stayed in the GTO a moment after the rest of them had exited to have a chance to take a full breath and collect himself in preparation for what was to come.</p><p>The shortest member of the household turned and shoved a peeved, cautionary finger up into Mike's face once he had entered.  "I'm going back to sleep.  Now piss off and make up."  Mike understood Davy was just serious enough.  "And don't you dare keep me awake with ...<i>that</i>, either.", he motioned upwards with a sweep of his wrist, not yet able to get his head around his two friends being engaged in certain activities.  With no interest in waiting for a response, Davy retired into his and Peter's bedroom.  He had thrown off his bedcovers earlier in his haste to get upstairs, so he kicked off his shoes and flopped face-down onto his bed still in his day clothes, beyond ready for some much-needed shuteye.</p><p>Mike was mortified by the impropriety of the idea that Davy or Peter might hear anything like that at all, ever, from him upstairs.  Moreover, in fact, he found his ever-expanding worrying over the entire situation had morphed from fear into wholesale embarrassment.  But far worse, he had botched things royally and still didn't know how to face Micky; all he knew was he had to, and sooner rather than later because waiting would surely cause even more of a strain.  With apprehension, he looked up to find that the young man in question had disappeared into their own bedroom.</p><p>He faintly bit the inside of his mouth and went up the stairs and past the open door which he then closed behind him for privacy.  Having been let down by the hope he'd be swallowed into the ground by now, he removed his hat and scratched the back of his head with the same hand.  The bedroom's seemingly glaring ceiling light was on, probably not having been turned off since before they left for the airport, and despite Micky facing away from him, he felt like he was drowning under a spotlight.  "I'm so sorry.", he spoke with significant chagrin, unable to keep the heat from surfacing on his cheeks.</p><p>Functionally paralyzed, Micky had stood in the middle of their room, trapped in his own head.  He was disturbed to no end about having exploited his best friend — <i>former best friend</i>, his mind corrected — and was distractedly trying without success to order in his mind all his more important belongings around the house before he would actually pack them up as quickly as possible and move out so that Mike wouldn't have to be the one to go.  He wondered how he would explain this whole fiasco to his mother, that just a few days ago he was as carefree as she had seen him in over a year, bringing Mike over and having a great time, and tonight his life was so topsy-turvy that he would need to crash on his childhood couch for at least a few nights until he could get it together enough to find a hole to crawl into alone.  He couldn't see himself ever telling her the miserable <i>why</i> of it, that he'd used Mike in the worst way.</p><p>Micky had finally accepted the reality that their normally even-keeled leader could only put up with so much before losing it as he had.  Yet Mike was incomprehensibly willing to take the extra time and effort to talk to him about it now.  Micky's fear remained that, after they talked here, <i>if</i> Micky could even think of words beyond basic apologies to say and then cough them up, that Mike wouldn't budge from his plan to get his things and split.  Micky had to face the dire possibility that he might not ever hear from Mike again, that after what he'd done, Mike couldn't possibly ever want to hear from him again either.  Wiping a couple of extra, stray tears away, he could imagine chances were pretty good that Mike would probably prefer to forget he even existed.  And if splitting and never speaking again was truly what Mike wanted, Micky wouldn't stand in his way.  He just didn't know if he'd be able to come to terms with the fact it was his own boorish feelings and actions that irrevocably drove Mike away.</p><p>The object of his thoughts spoke back up behind him, and it was now enough to break Micky's concentration, such as it was.  "I really am sorry.  I don't think I can say it enough."</p><p>He blinked but otherwise remained immobile.  <i>Why is he so sorry?  He keeps saying that.  I'm the one...  And why do I sense a 'but' coming?</i>  That was one count Micky wasn't wrong on.</p><p>"But Micky, bein' with me, you've got ta understand what you would be puttin' yourself through.  What you'd be givin' up.  We couldn' do a thing in public or when there's someone over.  Not a thing."</p><p><i>Wait.  What?</i>  He turned around slowly.  He was sure his brain had melted at some point in the past couple of hours, so he scrunched his glassy eyes closed and shook his head in an effort to clear it.  <i>It's one thing for Mike to try to brush it off like that by making up excuses in front of the others once they found out, but he's still using the same basic excuse with me in private?  I don't get it.</i></p><p>Mike, wounded all over again from seeing Micky as hurt as he was, took Micky's turning to him in silence as a request to continue talking.  "Much as I want to be with you, I know I'm hardly a catch, an' you got everything goin' for ya, so I don't get why you'd want ta be with <i>me</i>.", he babbled diffidently.  In a haze of thought before reining himself in, he questioned if his attempt to salvage this was as much self-interest as it was allowing Micky to make up his own mind.  "But if for some odd reason you <i>did</i> decide you really dig me, you gotta realize you'd be missin' out on a <i>lot</i> of groovy stuff.  A <i>whole</i> lot."  Mike had thought the repercussions through to an extent; he was nothing if not a future planner, part of why they'd found him a great choice to lead both their household and their band.</p><p>The thing was, Micky was already beyond sure he really did dig Mike.  Forget about all the many passing thoughts of attraction he'd had about Mike long before; it hadn't taken more than two minutes for him to make up his mind about him on Christmas Eve, and every last second of those two minutes were devoted not to deciding but to pinching himself into believing that Mike's advances were really and truly happening.  But that memory barely entered his mind now, he was so focused on understanding why Mike seemed to be on a whole different topical track than him.  <i>Missing out on stuff by deciding I dig him?  Him </i>wanting<i> to </i>be<i> with me???</i>  He raised his hands up between them to slow the onslaught of his confusion.  "Hold on.  You...  Are you just saying that?"  He stared Mike down, eyes wide.</p><p>Mike worried the rim of his pliable hat between his fingers, unable to suss out what part of what he had said Micky was asking about.  "No?  I'm bein' serious."</p><p>"You're serious."  As disoriented as he was, none of what Mike had just said sounded like he wasn't <i>willing</i>.  Fingertips finding their way to massaging his temples, he started putting the leftover pieces of this contorted puzzle together.  "You're saying that you <i>are</i> into me?  But you'd— you'd up and ditch me, ditch <i>us</i>, all without a word just so you could... play white knight?!"  His voice had risen to match his heightening incredulity.</p><p>Mike cringed, clutching his hat, and was ashamed enough to hang his head.  "W'll, when ya put it that way..."</p><p>"You're SERIOUS."  It came out half whimper, half shriek.  Maddened to the point of screaming, his fists clenched, then unclenched, then clenched again as his thoughts whirled.  "MIKE.  YOU HAVE NO IDEA how— how RELIEVED I am and— HOW MUCH I want to PUNCH THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF YOU right now."</p><p>The Texan leaned back a bit, stunned by the intensity of Micky's sudden outburst but not altogether taken by surprise at receiving a rebuke.  He had expected one to some degree eventually.  Well, maybe more from Davy, but even so.  The part about Micky being "relieved" had him momentarily wondering, but he didn't dwell on it because it didn't matter; he didn't believe he deserved to talk his way out of this, and with that conviction, he settled for another apology so that he wouldn't go down in Micky's history books as someone to be loathed.  "I'm sor—"</p><p>"You broke my HEART, man!"</p><p>Mike flinched.  The raw, wailed-out confession and the significance behind it hit Mike like a baseball bat.  He'd had a feeling that might have been the case.  And he'd simultaneously experienced what his own heart breaking was like to boot.  But hearing Micky confirm out loud what he — selfishly, if he were now honest — had done?  That what they'd had between them didn't seem to be just a flight of fancy to the other man?  He closed his eyes, stricken, reliving Micky's despair back in the car.  "<i>Mick.</i>", his voice cracked.  "I'm so sorry.  I didn' mean t' do that to ya—"</p><p>"You made me think I'D FORCED YOU INTO A RELATIONSHIP!  You made me," he was forced to spontaneously swallow the chafing dryness in his throat just then, "think I— I..."  Flopping his arms, he trailed off, unable now to willingly be more specific.</p><p>Mike's head popped back up, and he blinked in bewilderment, just as totally derailed as Micky had been a minute ago as to what in the heck was going on.  "What now?"  The question came out of his mouth before he could think, but had he waited to think, he wouldn't know how to change the wording of his question any.</p><p>Micky had more than half a mind to continue telling him off, but it seemed so bizarre to do so — this was <i>Mike</i> he was yelling at, after all — and he just couldn't.  Choosing to bury his face in his hands in frustration instead, he dragged them down to where his fingers dramatically pulled down on his not-entirely-dried-out lower lids.  "UGGGGGH!"  He really didn't want to be mad at Mike.  But he needed to release emotions all the same.</p><p>"Mick?"  For a second he had trouble finding words to make sense of it all.  "You think I could be forced into a relationship?"</p><p>Micky brought his hands down further and buoyed them palms-up to help explain, his voice starting off a few steps higher than normal before coming back down, leveling off, and slowing down.  "You can be a pushover sometimes when it comes to the rest of us.  When it comes to me.  And, you know, you like me alright", he commented shyly, "— I mean, yeah, you kissed me once, and you...", he swallowed again quickly, "went through with stuff, but we're good friends — and even if you didn't want it, you wouldn't want to hurt my feelings?"  Then he made a face at either himself or nothing in particular.  "But I guess not..."</p><p>Mike's shoulders went from stiff to sagging.  Having been fully pent up with anxiety until then, something in Mike unwound to where he came close to laughing at how ridiculous this was turning out.  "Micky, I more than like you.", he enunciated as his lips tugged into an awkward smile and his nose twitched to the side to hold in his amusement.</p><p>Though very glad to hear that, Micky was so strung out and upside down that he couldn't form a reply to it right away.</p><p>Then Mike's smile faded as it hit him that maybe his reticence from intending to cut things off over the course of the past few days had shown through this whole time, making Micky second-guess the feelings he'd been trying to hide from him.  Or maybe it could have been some of himself showing through because he didn't have a good grasp on how to be in a relationship; it wasn't exactly like he had an abundance of personal experience to go on there.  But either way, and especially because of this unveiled mistake, he knew he had to come clean to Micky about what had been going on in his head.</p><p>He unconsciously gravitated a step towards the inch-shorter man, once again lowering his eyes, and picked at perhaps imaginary lint on his hat with his fingers.  "I <i>more</i>'n like you, Micky.  But every day since Christmas, I meant to break us off because a' all those reasons I said before.  I started ta try a few times, but I jus' couldn't find it in myself t' get the words out."  He looked him in the eyes then, finding a measure of compassion there.  "What we had was too good.  I kept tellin' myself it wouldn't hurt so much if I could end it right away, before we got in too deep."  <i>I shoulda known I was already in too deep from our first kiss.</i>  But he brushed the thought aside with a defeated sigh.  "I had every opportunity, and I— I couldn't.  I kept stallin'.  And then, when...", he kind of vaguely motioned downstairs with a grimace.  "Other people <i>knowin'</i>.  And I panicked.  Full-on panicked, Mick."</p><p>It was hard to keep eye contact just then, so his vision took to gazing at the ceiling as if he expected better answers to be found there.  "That's when I thought I'd messed things up so bad that runnin' away was the only right way out."  He huffed an unimpressed laugh at himself.  "I didn' ask you what you wanted.  Or them, for that matter.  An' that wudn' nice."  Taking a breath, he looked to him again, begging him to pick up what he was laying down.  "It was all wrong an' all my fault.  But Micky, I swear I never meant ta hurt you."  'Or make ya think I didn't want you.', he wanted to say.  But the way he'd acted tonight, he couldn't admit that was the truth, no doubt subconsciously believing it to be easier if Micky thought he didn't want him.</p><p>For Micky's part, he stood there as calmly as he was able, listening to Mike talk more than he'd ever heard him talk in one go in his life.  And as hard as it was to hear where Mike was coming from, he of course seemed sincere, so Micky couldn't knock him for that.  Before tonight, he was sure Mike was only shy about being in a relationship and the intimate acts it entailed because such a thing didn't come naturally to him, that he merely needed time to process it all and become comfortable.  Micky had been convinced that's what he had been picking up on since Christmas Eve.  But apparently he'd missed an external layer to it, one with edges that were destined to cut as they moved forward.</p><p>Mike pulled in and chewed on his lip before finally deciding to give in for good, or for at least as long as Micky would want him around, which might equal about another ten seconds at most if he got what he deserved.  With an unsatisfied shake of his head, he elaborated.  "If you could still want me after...", the corner of his mouth pulled downward, "— an' believe me, I get why you wouldn' — the consequences ain't trivial.  I don't want t' keep you from livin' your life or be the cause of your life bein' ruined."  He exhaled a good portion of a pent-up ache that had situated itself between his ribs.</p><p>And to that, Micky abruptly head-butted Mike's chest with a groan, his arms loosely dangling straight down underneath him.  <i>I'm in love with this idiot, he </i>does<i> want me, and he would stay with me if I asked him to.</i>  He so, so wished Mike's honest explanation of what was stressing him out could have been a discussion item literally any other day before today so they could have avoided this level of turmoil.  In one night, in a matter of hours, he had felt like he'd had his heart torn and mangled and then molded right back into its original form, though with some light bruising.</p><p>Mike stayed upright from the thump.  He didn't know if he had the right to touch Micky anymore, so he just stood there, chest supporting the fluffy crown of Micky's head.  "I'm sorry.", he repeated with a low face, mentally shaking his head at himself.  <i>I'm such a fool.  I couldn't'a handled this worse.</i></p><p>The continuing explanation-apology notwithstanding, Micky was still almost as annoyed as he was allayed.  He hated conflict.  Though this was the only significant interpersonal hiccup they'd ever had in the course of knowing one another, Mike never having pulled anything like this before, it bothered Micky.  He was willing to give Mike the benefit of the doubt, but he had no interest in monumental breakdowns in communication becoming a normal occurrence.  In order to better think, he lifted his head, turned to the side, and ran his hands through his hair while avoiding eye contact.</p><p>Mike's mind was already set on going out of his way to never instigate such an epic misunderstanding again, no matter where he ended up sleeping tonight or any other night.  If he were allowed to stay, Micky was too precious to him, and neither him nor Peter nor Davy deserved the treatment they'd put up with tonight, so he was intent on not putting them through that again.  "Whatever you decide, whether you still even want me in the house or in the band or not," he looked down once more, unable to meet the brown eyes that had tracked back to his, "I hope you can forgive me.", he murmured, not sure he could be willing to forgive himself so easily.  With his heart in his throat, he didn't exactly know how to live down or make up for his behavior and the hurt and confusion it had caused.</p><p>Micky had turned back to him by then.  He took a deep breath, hands now at his sides, fingers fumbling around restlessly.  "Look, Mike, I get that this," he flipped his palm up and moved it between them and clarified, "a relationship with me, would make you uncomfortable around other people.  It <i>is</i> complicated, and it <i>is</i> risky.  So I get why you're nervous, I absolutely do.  Because what you said earlier is all the truth.  And I'm not saying I'm not nervous too because I am.  But man, you have to <i>talk</i> to me.  You can't let it overwhelm you."</p><p>Mike wasn't sure if he heard the last of his words properly — because Micky not being regularly overwhelmed? — so his brain repeated them to him.  Only superficially was he under the impression it might be the beginning of forgiveness.</p><p>But Micky knew they weren't out of the woods quite yet.  Tamping down the desire to lose all self-restraint and jump back into this head first, he had to talk it through completely to be sure he could trust Mike going forward.  "You can't flip out on us like this again.  I need to know I can count on you not to."  <i>I need to know I can trust my heart to you.</i></p><p>The other man, having cleared his head so as to focus on listening better, was able to follow along in real time and nodded soberly in agreement.</p><p>"And if you do panic about something, from now on... if you think something's wrong, you'll find a way to talk to me about it before you make any rash decisions?"</p><p>Intellectually he felt about seven years old.  He almost couldn't get the words out his throat felt so constricted.  "I will."  Micky was for once being the calm, cool, collected, and rational one; and he was right besides.  He appreciated all of that and was irritated with himself all over again for not implicitly trusting Micky to keep it together.</p><p>"You won't burn rubber on us for no good reason?"</p><p>He winced.  "I promise I won't."</p><p>"Never do this to me again, okay?"</p><p>He shook his head.  "Never ever.  Cross my heart and hope to die."</p><p>Micky clenched his teeth with an anguished look and vibrated his head back and forth.  "Don't do that to me either."</p><p>"I'll try not to."  Mike wanted to chuckle, but his stomach was still too tied up in knots.</p><p>"Don't think I'm not still upset with you."</p><p>"You 'n' me both."</p><p>Micky crossed his arms over his chest and deadpanned, acting as though he were really considering an alternative by drawing out a faked thought process which ended with a challenge question.  "Say it again?"</p><p>He looked down at the floor like a seven-year-old one more time, altogether contrite.  "I'm sorry."</p><p>Micky believed he was remorseful, certainly — Mike wouldn't have gone to the trouble of sticking around and apologizing and explaining himself as thoroughly as he had, nor would he be standing here acquiescing like he was — but further remorse wasn't what Micky was after now.  A smart-ass by nature, he couldn't help but grin a bit.  "That's nice, and very much appreciated, but I meant I want to hear again what you said to me in the car."</p><p>Mike looked up, and his forehead creased as he racked his brain.  "I said an awful lot in the car."</p><p><i>Only he would think he talked too much.</i>, Micky thought to himself, his small grin turning lopsided.  "What you said to me — about how you felt about me — right before Pete interrupted us."  <i>I need to hear it again for it to be real.  I need it to be real.</i></p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C14 - LATE TUESDAY NIGHT</p><p><i>Only he would think he talked too much.</i>, Micky thought to himself, his small grin turning lopsided.  "What you said to me — about how you felt about me — right before Pete interrupted us."  <i>I need to hear it again for it to be real.  I need it to be real.</i></p><p>With that clue, Mike's brain rewound back to the time in question, and it hit him.  A hope he had kept suppressed all this time surged within him.  "<i>Oh</i>."  He simpered, dipping his head down and then back up, sheepish from having shared such a private and visceral emotion out loud — an emootion that seemed to be accepted.  He wondered suddenly if he would be blessed to have the opportunity to <i>get used to</i> saying that out loud to Micky.</p><p>And then he decided he wasn't going to let that opportunity to find out slip him by.  <i>Be brave like you were once before.  He might welcome it now...</i>, he felt to himself more than he thought in any precise words.  Timidly, he followed the idea up by stepping forward and reaching out his empty hand to run his fingers through the untamed curls on the side of his hopefully-once-again-lover's head.  He was half afraid the slightly younger man would step away, but just like on Christmas Eve, he stayed put.  The assuring look Mike was given this go helped to embolden him, and he didn't wait any longer to affirm what he had said and had absolutely meant in the car.  "I love you, Micky.", he admitted with confidence this time, able to gaze more deeply into the Californian's soothing browns than he felt he ever had before — was gazing into his soul, he wagered — and he found himself at home with what he connected with there.  "More'n anything in this world."</p><p>And that was the plain truth.  He was in love with Micky, and it was freeing to be able to come to terms with that fact.  He had never felt like he genuinely belonged anywhere or with anyone until he had met this wonderful person standing before him, this person who willingly and eagerly gave him his time and made him laugh and feel appreciated and now loved every single day.  Repeating the words of deep-seated affection to Micky couldn't be a hardship now that he was able to level with himself that, if it came down to it, there wasn't anything that he wouldn't do if this boy asked it of him.</p><p>Micky hadn't noticed that he'd dropped his own crossed arms when Mike had laid tender fingers to his hair.  He didn't hold back from glowing with relief and happiness at Mike's words and touch and countenance.  "I always knew you were a big softie.", he verbally poked, his eyes humored, horizontal slits.</p><p>With their eyes locked on to each other's, Mike shook his head just a bit and produced a full and natural smile then.  "Only when it comes to you."</p><p>Smiling right back, Micky informed him with smooth sincerity, "I really do love you, ya big softie."</p><p>Mike's eyes widened and his fingers in Micky's hair stilled.  <i>He's not jus' sayin' that.  He really does...</i>, he thought in breathless awe, recognizing the truth of Micky's words.  His inner turbulence went quiet, externally mirrored by the tension leaving his forehead to smooth out his skin back to its innocent, youthful appearance, just as it should be.  <i>He meant it.  He really does love me.</i>  Mike beamed at him.</p><p>Observing the stages of Mike's reaction to his declaration, Micky wondered, <i>Could he really not know how I feel?</i>  He tilted his head a bit, smile still stuck on his face.  <i>I want to show him so badly.</i>  But rather than push him into anything, he wanted to wait, deciding that Mike should be the one to make the next move in order to commit to what they had going on between them — a real relationship, he hoped.  But as it happened, his patience ran out almost instantly; if one more second went by, Micky felt like it might be the end of him.  "So are you gonna shake my hand or hug me or make out with me or what?", he teased with anticipation.</p><p>At that, Mike's eyes twinkled, and without delay, the hand that had resumed stroking Micky's curls shifted around to cup the side of his face.  Mike's other hand, dropping his hat to the floor forgotten, snaked up and around to cradle the other side of Micky's face.</p><p>Not missing a beat, Micky had in turn wrapped his arms around the waist of the slender man before him.  They were so close, face to face.</p><p>Secure in their embrace, Mike found himself at a loss for further words, beyond elated that this was real.  He leaned in the last inch and delivered a meaningful and unhurried meeting of lips, putting into it everything he felt and hoping it would be a start to his making amends.  After an extended moment floating on a sea of euphoria, he felt as much as heard a very small, benignly strangled sound in the back of Micky's throat that he didn't know how to interpret apart from being able to discern it wasn't necessarily <i>bad</i>.  "Mmwhut'sthat?", he mumbled as if entranced, reluctantly breaking off their kiss.</p><p><i>MAN, that's good.</i>, Micky thought in a daze of his own.  He had pulled back just far enough for some air and smirked, thoughts of Mike's lips being as soft and pliable as ever on his mind.  Contrary to what the sound he had made might have seemed like, he hadn't had any complaints whatsoever and treasured their sweet exchange more than he knew how to express.  "The way you kiss me — that's what had me stumped.  I didn't think you could be faking how you felt."  Every blissful time their lips had touched since their first kiss on Christmas Eve, Mike had seemed to him so affectionate and tender and caring — and, often, needy of Micky.  And Mike was level-headed and down to earth, not one to be whisked away by atmosphere and fantasy, so Micky would have bet some money on his kisses alone that it was real, that Mike had serious feelings for him because he didn't think Mike would, or could, fake that.  Which is what had made it all so unbearably confusing when Mike had closed himself off and announced his imminent departure.  But that was then, and this was now.</p><p>Mike was lost once again in the warmth of Micky's drying eyes.  "No, no fakin' it for me.", he agreed with a sluggish shake of his head and a dreamy look cast on his features.  It was a fact that he couldn't possibly fake it nor could he imagine trying to fake such a thing.  The person in his arms was his first and only love, and holding back from him had proved its own torment.</p><p>Micky's stomach did a flip at the intensity and the sincerity of it all.  He was so keen on experiencing so much more of Mike like this in his life that he was thrumming with excitement.  "Tell me you feel this way about me again next Christmas, and all's forgiven.", he half-joked, feeling compelled to cement his position.</p><p>Mike looked surprised and perfectly pleased, any of the remaining reluctance he might have felt earlier having faded away.  Caressing Micky's cheeks with the pads of his callused thumbs, he didn't understand how someone like Micky could love someone like him, but he wasn't about to take it for granted ever again.  "I will.  If you're sure that's what you want."  He had to check one last time about this astonishing reality where Micky actually did love him and where they could, if they were <i>very</i> lucky, get by just fine together.</p><p>"Never been more sure about anything, babe."</p><p>Mike couldn't contain himself.  He pulled Micky's face in for a more intense and eagerly reciprocated kiss, and before long, Micky's tongue sought entrance which was immediately granted.  Seconds could have passed — or minutes, or hours; Mike couldn't be sure.  But the next thing he knew, Micky's hands had slipped around his front, one to hold his belt buckle in place and the other to palm the front of his pants, eliciting a modest groan from him as his hands fell to Micky's shoulders.</p><p>Liking what he felt and heard, Micky's other hand went to his belt buckle as well to help deftly undo it and slide it out of the loops and toss it to the floor.  <i>To hell with not being a little pushy.  He wants me, and I want him!</i>  Micky didn't care who in the bedroom below might have been woken up by the thunk of the belt's landing; all that mattered to him was that Mike was committing to this.</p><p>And Mike did want it, which he demonstrated by drawing up the courage to stare Micky down while shifting his hands to Micky's own belt, boldly doing away with it in the same fashion, then removing Micky's jacket followed by pulling Micky's green striped sweater over his head and dropping it to the floor in a growing pile.</p><p>Now uncovered from the waist up, Micky took hold of Mike by his tie, hauling his face back for another kiss before undoing the strip of cloth, pushing Mike's jacket off his shoulders, and moving his fingers to the buttons on Mike's long-sleeved work shirt, opening them one after another as fast as possible until he could also push the shirt along with the tie off of him.</p><p>They next went to work, though less sexily, on divesting themselves of their own pants, shoes, and underwear before pressing their warm bodies and faces back together and in no time maneuvering around to Micky's bed, falling onto it in a tangle of limbs.  Mike took a moment to draw the covers up over them, partly due to a sense of propriety and partly because the air was indeed chilly in December, even upstairs, even when they were worked up.</p><p>They were all over one another, need surging within them, wide, sloppy kisses up top and rutting and fondling down below.  Overwhelmed with feeling, Mike's lips migrated to Micky's cheek and temple.  "I'm sorry, Mick.", he whispered out in a heavy breath.</p><p>Micky shushed him, wondering if Mike was even aware of the words having left his lips.  Wanting him to feel nothing but good, Micky turned his face to the side to recapture Mike's mouth with his own.</p><p>It worked, and Mike let himself become entirely lost, adrift in all the different, highly pleasurable sensations of Micky, a murmured "I love you." falling out during his gasps of passion which Micky responded to in kind.</p><p>It took almost no time at all, and minimal effort, to find their releases, one after the other softly crying out as they came.  Catching their breaths and coming down from their mutual high, dopamine flooding their systems, the fatigue from the long and stressful day was overshadowed by giddiness from their intimacy coupled with their new personal understanding.  They cuddled and kissed quietly, hums of happiness scattered for some minutes.</p><p>"Micky.", he sighed as he placed a matching, soft kiss on Micky's neck below his ear.</p><p>"Mmm.  Mike."  The smile in Micky's voice was apparent.</p><p>Slowly pulling back, Mike got to see that smile he had heard, and he examined Micky with no small amount of awe and reverance.  He rubbed nimble fingers over Micky's waist as his mind started to clear a bit from their haze of lovemaking.  Able to handle complete sentences once again, his face morphed slightly.  "So I get why you'd wanna punch me, but I'm still tryin'a figure out why on Earth you'd think you forced me into wantin' t' be with you.  Just me bein' a pushover's enough?"  Lying with Micky in their relaxed afterglow of fooling around, thoughts wandering over recent events, it was difficult for Mike to not find himself a little amused and entertained by the idea.</p><p>This time it was Micky's turn to feel silly.  Had they not been in one another's arms, front to front up against each other in Mike's narrow bed, he maybe would have stubbed his toe on the floor as a distraction.  As it was, he did the equivalent by lowering his eyes to Mike's chest and dragging a toe down along the side of Mike's foot.  "Well, after you wouldn't explain what'd made you so upset and touchy, I got to thinking about it all in the car, and it occurred to me:  I couldn't remember when it wasn't me who started something between us these last few days."</p><p>Mike frowned in thought, contemplating what Micky meant and beginning to feel badly all over again.  "Oh.  I—", he started, then stopped for a lack of an excuse.  It was surely true.  He lifted his fingers from Micky and ran them through his hair in place of a scratch, remembering how he hadn't wanted to get comfortable at Micky's mother's house for multiple reasons, one of which was the concern he had about getting too attached.  The irony, of course, was that he was already well gone by then.  But if that hadn't been the case, he had been worn down over and over since.  "I didn't want ta lead you on 'cause I really didn't think we stood a chance."  He paused then.  "I'm sorry, Mick."</p><p>"It's okay.", Micky placed a gentle palm on Mike's face.  "I get it now.  I just thought—"</p><p>"I'm sorry.", he repeated seriously, stopping him short.  "An' I'm sorry for the way I treated you after."</p><p>Micky kissed him in reply, far more interested in feeling Mike's pillowy lips than in making Mike feel uneasy.</p><p>When they had backed off from one another just a little, Mike, feeling wanted and wanting to make sure Micky felt just as wanted, laid his hand on Micky's arm and wondered aloud, "But I do touch you plen'y, don' I?"  He tried to remember back while simultaneously trying to concentrate only on the good parts, which to him were the parts that were all Micky.</p><p>Running his fingers up Mike's chest, he replied, "I guess.  Like you always have."  He didn't want to be a downer again, or put Mike on the spot and make it weird, or sound like he was asking too much when he didn't mean to ask him for anything, not really.  So he hedged in a mumble, "But I mean... Idunno, man."</p><p>Though deriving pleasure from Micky's fingers, Mike's focus was on Micky's answer.  He didn't enjoy hearing Micky sounding troubled and questioning himself like that.  He was certain that any lack of initiative had been his own fault, not Micky's, and he frowned harder at himself.  This wasn't exactly his strong subject, so he was willing to admit his obliviousness in general.  "I'm sure you're better at this sorta thing than I am.  But I'll work on it.", he added decisively, rubbing lazy circles on his boy's upper arm.  He was amazed by the thought that a week ago, he would never have imagined in his wildest dreams that his roommate, his best friend, the person whom he secretly loved would be in bed cuddling with him, naked as the day he was born, and Mike felt lucky as hell at this slight change of scenery that meant so much to him.  He would make it a point to ensure Micky knew how he felt from hereon out.</p><p>But Micky didn't want Mike to think he had to change himself at all to feel like he was enough for him.  "No, it's fine.  You be you."  On reflection, he supposed it would be a little preposterous to expect any type of relationship a person could have with Mike to hinge on Mike being overtly, expressively affectionate — or to have Mike be expected to begin any interaction of that kind at all, really.  Mike just wasn't normally like that.  Although, he had to admit that when in bed, Mike didn't seem to have any problem letting his guard down to be expressive and affectionate with his mouth and his body.  And that thought warmed Micky's heart and made him feel special.  <i>It really is a wonder he ever kissed me to begin with.</i>, he reminded himself.  But it also reminded him of a thought that had crossed his mind earlier, a misgiving about being more enthusiastic than he normally intended to be.  "If I'm ever... too much, you'll let me know?"</p><p>Mike crinkled a brow.  "Too much?"</p><p>He shrugged the shoulder that wasn't against the bed and dropped the same hand down from Mike's chest.  "You know, clingy and stuff."  It had sounded childish in his head, but he'd said it anyway.</p><p>The Texan grinned.  "I like you just the way you are.", he disclosed, squeezing him closer and kissing him in one fell swoop.  Seconds later, once he pulled back a bit, he started to add on another thought.  "It's just..."  But he trailed off there, unsure of how to say it.</p><p>Micky's gut tightened, primed to aggrievement from their prior ordeal.  "What?"</p><p>He shook his head once against the pillow.  "Oh, I just worry."  He threaded the hand he'd had on Micky's arm underneath said arm and around Micky further to trace his fingers up and down his spine.  "I've never..."  He stopped himself from getting too sappy.  "We've barely been outside together, an' I worry I'll act like a nut and get stars shinin' in my eyes like Davy and stare at ya too long — maybe even just in disbelief that this's real.  Or that one of us'll touch the other in a certain way without thinkin'."  He quickly clarified:  "Not because we don't know better but because it'll be natural for us to.  And I don't want ta haveta think too hard about it, like you said before.  I don't want t' get too caught up in worryin'."</p><p>With that explanation, Micky relaxed.  He had himself wondered if he'd be able to keep it together a hundred percent of the time too when in public.  And he didn't want to tell Mike yet that his mother knew since at least that indeed was not worth worrying about right now.  He consoled himself with the thought that only she may know her son well enough to figure out what was going on between them.  They'd manage, he decided; Mike was hardly the one who would give them away, and Micky had made a concerted effort so far to be mindful of his own behavior outside.  He was determined to continue to be mindful because he had no intention of messing things up a second time.  "Mmm.  Guess we'll just have to figure it out as we go.  Just don't stress too much, 'kay?"  With Mike's hand now pressing flat against his lower back, Micky graced him with another a kiss.</p><p>"Yeah.", Mike breathed out afterward, perfectly willing to agree to anything for Micky now that his own hangup had been resolved.</p><p>"Hey, babe?"  Micky's stomach faintly growled then.  "Not that I'm not enjoying being all toasty and curled up with you a whooole lot," he nuzzled and rocked into Mike in accentuation, "but you wanna go downstairs?  We missed dinner, and I'm getting hungry.  Plus I'd be willing to bet Davy is gonna get up early to eat our doughnuts — possibly out of spite."</p><p>Mike chuckled, moving his hand around Micky's hip.  "You want me goin' down there with you?"  He raised an eyebrow, imagining Davy hearing the two of them and stomping out to gripe at him some more.  "Davy'd have my head if he got woke back up.  An' what about you?  You ain't still mad at me an' wanna steal my doughnut?", he teased with a small smirk.</p><p>Micky good-naturedly rolled his eyes.  "When have I ever <i>actually</i> been mad at you?"</p><p>If he'd been standing, gravity would have lowered his head for him just a little.  "Shoulda been."</p><p>"Get over it.", he smiled at his guy.  <i>My guy.  He really is with me for sure now.</i></p><p>Before Mike could say anything back, he was distracted by Micky's delightful lips on his own once more.  The slightly older man giggled, the vibration of it traveling through to Micky, and it was the most adorable sound the drummer thought he'd ever heard in his life.</p><p>Mike knew he would have to apologize to Davy and Peter in the morning.  But for now, the weight of the world felt like it had been lifted off of him and everything was back to normal — a promising, new, fantastic, together-normal.  It was an even greater level of ease and openness between them than they had known before which lead Mike to think that Micky was right, that they might just end up being okay after all.</p><p>-—-—-</p><p>They had cleaned themselves, and each other, up, grinning the whole time, and had dressed in their pajamas before heading downstairs.  Mike had located the sack of food, relocating it to the table before moving two of the kitchen chairs up next to each other around on one side of the table.  In the meantime, Micky had gotten a glass of milk for them to share while they ate.</p><p>To fill in the late night stillness for a solid couple of minutes around taking bites, Micky quietly chattered about this and that, all of it light, most of it relating to their friend's surprise birthday party he had gone to on Monday before he'd come back to the pad sauced.  With Micky getting distracted in the car on the way home the following day and with everything that had happened since, he hadn't had a chance to tell Mike about it before now, so he described to him the dozens of people who were there that he'd remembered talking to and the good time that was had by all.  It was as if Micky couldn't help but feel he needed to make up for the time he had spent earlier in near silence.</p><p>Through it all, while wordlessly finishing off his own pastry, Mike low-level smiled away.</p><p>It didn't go unnoticed by his beau who let it go for awhile as he talked, happy as always to see Mike happy.  But eventually Micky had to ask just what it was that was <i>making</i> Mike so happy because he didn't remember saying anything particularly humorous.  "What?", he queried as he finished popping the individual leftover sprinkles into his mouth, looking back at him funny.</p><p>"Lots of things."  Mike innocently peered down at the table — and at Micky's fingers that appeared directly in front of him to pinch the remaining crumbs of his cinnamon bun — but his grin widened for a second, belying his customary ability to keep his composure.</p><p>"Oh?", Micky prodded in-between taking in the morsels.</p><p>Mike shook his head, preparing himself to let it all out, to again lay his emotions bare.  Micky deserved as much.  "It's strange.  I feel like jello inside when you're around.  When I'm with you, I've always felt... I cain' explain it, what you do to me.  I couldn't explain it at all before I understood what it was.  Then when I did understand it, I didn' know what ta do with it for the longest time.  An'... now that I have you, that we're together, I don't know how ta contain it."  He paused, staring at him openly.  "An' that you're back to bein' you again — that you're not speechless anymore."</p><p>With a soft "Hey!" having pushed through the warm, fuzzy feelings Mike was giving him by sharing himself as he just had, Micky poked him in friendly retaliation for pointing out his one-time lack of yammering.  <i>I really could get used to him being so open like this with me.  I hope it lasts.  But even if it doesn't, I'll take him just how he normally is because he's him, and he's wonderful.</i>, he thought with a broad smile.</p><p>Mike unexpectedly wrapped his arms around him from the side and leaned in to take possession of Micky's lips with his own.  Seconds later, mostly letting go, he added slyly, "But I do like it when you're speechless from doin' other things with yer mouth."</p><p>With that statement, bordering on salacious given who had said it, there could be no more second-guessing for Micky about where his best friend stood.  <i>He kissed me!  Mike kissed me — again — of his own free will!</i>, he squeed internally, the fervor of it showing bright as anything on his face.</p><p>After a pleased moment of taking in his lover's elation, Mike continued, gratefully apologizing in his own way.  "And I'm real glad that you're givin' me a second chance an' you still want me — that you ever wanted me t' begin with."  Left arm still draped around Micky's waist, he rubbed the fingers of Micky's left hand that he was now holding in his right.  "Real glad."</p><p>With a crooked smile back at him, Micky melted all the more.  In truth, he felt very special to have Mike.  He was of the belief that loads of chicks would kill to have a guy like him — dependable (maybe except for this one time), selfless (even if he tried to do selflessness majorly wrong this once), smart as a cookie (when he wasn't being fearfully dense), extremely talented (no exceptions there), and handsome as hell (not a question in his mind).  Distracted by the clock on the wall beyond the stairs, he finally took his eyes off Mike's, and judging by the time it showed, it was now December 30th.  "Happy birthday, babe.", he announced, tipping his head in its direction to elucidate what he had been looking at.  "It's past midnight."</p><p>As for Mike, his heart was full.  No other present could hold a candle to his getting Micky as his own, and he couldn't fathom how any future present could ever top it.  He fixed Micky with a look and quietly rehashed his announcement from moments before their very first kiss less than a week ago in this very room:  "I'm going to kiss you again."  He moved his right hand up and gently took the side of Micky's face with it, leaning in to capture the now-eager and not-at-all-anxious lips that awaited his own, determined to not let all their future exchanges start off one-sided.  Pulling back to get a good look at him, he gazed at his boy in wonder and told him earnestly, "I love you, Micky.  You don't ever have to doubt that."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoyed this work.  Reviews welcome and appreciated!  And a thank you once again to my spectacular betas Lauren_StDavid and 70mtt who made a huge difference to the quality of this story.<br/>There are already over 83,000 more words in another installment should anyone be keen on reading it or betaing it at some point.</p>
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